


He Doesn't See Me

by Chamaelirium



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Accidental return to the underground, F/M, Future Jareth, His Nibs, I'm terrible at writing politics and intrigue, Jareth is a minor king, Jareth is his usual self, Magical Bond, No Magical Healing Cock, Please forgive the author, Post-Labyrinth, Sarah hides her ass, Sarah is an Adult, Shmutty shmut, Slow Burn, What even was that tag, a little smut, but I'll make you wait for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 80,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chamaelirium/pseuds/Chamaelirium
Summary: It was a day like so many others, one in a string of identical beads strung on the same thread. He ordered his horse saddled and strode to the mounting block, smoothing black leather gloves over long fingers. Servants held the grey stallion steady as he mounted with fluid grace, casting a critical eye over the grounds as he rode through the cobblestone courtyard and out into the city. He was flanked by six of his men, a phalanx of warriors on either side.They were passing through the marketplace, when out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a familiar form with dark hair, hazel eyes, and a stubborn chin. Before he could focus, the figure was gone...





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! *waves nervously* So.... there may be one or two of you who recognise this title (and my username) from over on FF dot net. I started this story eleven years ago and it took me pretty much seven of those to finish it (not that it's a magnificent saga or anything, I just happened to have three babies in that time, which kind of puts a damper on frenetic fanfic writing). Since then, FF has become less and less where I spend my time, and instead I get most of my content from here. So I really wanted to try and repost a few of my stories - and in the case of this one, perhaps modify somewhat - over here. If you don't want to know how this ends in a hurry, then bear with me as I repost here. Thankfully it shouldn't take too long as technically the entire thing is already written, it's just needing a few tweaks as I repost it. Much love to you all!!  
> (The Song that the title is referencing is Sarah Brightman's He Doesn't see Me.  
> He Doesn't See me.  
> When he passes me by he’s a ray of light  
> Like the first drop of sun from the sky  
> And I know he’s a king who deserves a queen  
> But I’m not a queen, and he doesn’t see me
> 
> When he dances, he moves me to a smile  
> And I see everything near him shine  
> There’s a grace in his ways that I can’t contain  
> I haven’t that grace  
> Oh I haven’t that grace... 
> 
> And the closer he gets I can’t help but hide  
> So ashamed of my body and voice...)

It was a day like so many others, one in a string of identical beads strung on the same thread. He ordered his horse saddled and strode to the mounting block, smoothing black leather gloves over long fingers. Servants held the grey stallion steady as he mounted with fluid grace, casting a critical eye over the grounds as he rode through the cobblestone courtyard and out into the city. He was flanked by six of his men, a phalanx of warriors on either side. 

They were passing through the marketplace, when out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a familiar form with dark hair, hazel eyes, and a stubborn chin. Before he could focus, the figure was gone. He pulled his horse to a stop and swung around in the saddle to look behind him. Nothing. He shook his head and flicked the horses’ flanks with his riding crop, taking off at a gallop, followed by his men. She was haunting him even here. This was not the first time he thought he had caught a glimpse of her. She, who had boldly walked in and shattered his whole world – he gritted his teeth – and walked out again without a backward look. 

Once she returned to her own world, he resolved to never watch her again, and cut all ties. It had been several years now, and although he had before been accustomed to frequent wanderings in the mortal world, he’d restricted himself since then. Bitterly he thought it may have been better if he had not placed the requirement on himself. He would be much more at ease knowing what she was up to. The thought of a human who had defeated his Labyrinth wandering freely made him more than a little nervous. He would be more relaxed to learn she was languishing in an oubliette somewhere, out of the way, unable to do more damage to him. She had already done enough.

They were nearing the edge of the city, and the gates swung open at his approach. With a thought, he opened an archway in the hedge and rode through it, not looking back to see if his warriors were still following. 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was still shivering in the darkness of the alleyway a long time after he was gone. This time it had been too close. But she was drawn to his presence like a moth to beautiful, dangerous flame. Too close and it would be she who was extinguished. She drew her hood further over her face and hair, and gathered her strength. Standing slowly, she ventured out, stooping as she reached the corner to gather her basket and scattered dried herbs she had dropped in her haste. Swinging it over her shoulder, she stepped back out onto the street, heading for the far west wall of the city. 

She knew he would now not be back until sunset, perhaps later if he chose to stay at one of the outer estates. She had learned much of his movements in the last three years. She knew when and where he rode out to attend to his royal duties, she knew which horse was his favourite, and she knew the faces of his men. She knew, via gossip passed through the common folk from servants in the castle, what his favourite meals were, when he slept, and what sort of mood he was in when he woke. She knew who he took to his bed, who he received at his castle out of diplomacy, and those whose company he genuinely seemed to enjoy. She watched, and learned, and stayed in the shadows. He was the only familiar thing in this alien place, and even he was out of her reach. 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was her last semester of high school, and she looked forward to the new adventure of university life with enthusiasm. She could not wait to move out, to start her “own” life away from her family (who she loved dearly, but were a little smothering). This new unknown excited her, and she was already planning which colleges she would apply to, which courses she would take, and how she would decorate her first dorm room. 

She had begun to go through her things as the weather warmed and spring approached, throwing out old toys, books, papers, and clothes that no longer fit. She was on her knees in the attic, digging through a large cardboard box that held, it seemed, more dust than anything else. Sneezing and eyes watering, she leaned back on her heels and mopped at her nose with the back of a sleeve. As her eyes cleared, she ventured a look into the bottom of the box, grabbing old schoolwork and papers out and throwing them in a pile that was growing at her left. 

Her next dive in caused her to stop halfway hanging out of the box, hand half closed around a cold, round object. She sat down heavily on the attic floor, afraid to look at what she was holding. She did not need to open her eyes to know exactly what it was. A clear, crystal orb that fit neatly into the palm of her hand, its cold weight sinking into her heart. 

She had forgotten. She had made herself forget, but now it came back in a sickening rush. Her frantic search through stony walls, the clock ticking, weird and fantastic creatures, things that changed constantly without warning, threats seeming to crowd in on all sides, and him. She felt him watching her the whole way, his eyes trained on her every move, as she ventured deeper and deeper into his impossible maze. 

When it was all over, she had found this tucked under the covers with Toby, and along with her red bound copy of the book, had hidden it away without showing it to him. She had been too afraid to throw it away, but even more afraid of keeping it in plain sight. So she buried it under old junk, and hoped she would be able to do the same with her memories. 

She went about the business of forgetting, and got on with her life. She tried to get along better with her family (with varying degrees of success) and was the best big sister she could be to Toby. She was alright. She had forgotten – or she thought she had. The memory of his eyes, mismatched, bright, and filled with barely concealed cruelty and laughter. His pointed, feline smile filled her inner mind with absolute clarity. It was as if no time at all had passed since she had seen him. 

She opened her eyes and found herself clutching the orb to her heart, and dropped it quickly it as though it were poisoned. It landed on the wooden floor with a dull thud and rolled away from her into a patch of sunlight. Light scattered from its surface and lit up the dimness of the attic. She stared at it for a moment, before purposefully getting up and walking over to where it lay, looking brightly innocent and beautiful. Just like he could appear when he wanted to, like a still, quiet river, filled with treachery and death. She bent down and reached out a hand to pick it up. Something inside her stirred and she opened her mouth to utter the name she thought she had banished from her lips years before;

“Jareth...”  
Then the world exploded.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Day and night passed her in a blur, hiding in the huge piles of debris that surrounded the city’s west wall, huddling for warmth by a tiny fire as flakes of snow fell from the sky, finding what scraps of food she could, hiding from the garbage collectors who lived and salvaged in that place. She was hungry, cold, and frightened and wanted more than anything to get away from where she was. Her life had been normal, ordered, happy, and one word had been enough to shatter it all. She did not know why it had happened, but the mention of his name was enough to trigger whatever spell had been lying dormant. She did not know why he would have let such a thing cross over with Toby. She could only assume that he had meant for Toby to find it one day. The thought made her burn with righteous indignation and her anger drove her to survive. 

The first time she had been in this country, it had seemed almost empty, and she had traveled for hours without meeting a single soul. This time was very different. There were people everywhere, and genuine guards patrolled the countryside around the castle. Whereas before she had approached the castle almost without trying, this time she was met everywhere with suspicion by those who lived around it. The guards at the city gate were alert and held very real weapons, and did not seem afraid to use them. 

She sought to get closer to his castle, thinking only of avenging herself and gaining passage back home. As the days passed she made her way into the city, hiding herself under rags so she was not seen as human by those who lived there. She had seen enough to know that humans were relatively unusual and always remarked on. She did not know why there were humans there in the first place. But whenever one of the Others passed, she knew immediately to hide herself as far away from them as she could. They were beautiful all, like cold gems or silk flowers, colourful and bright, but something about them that seemed unreal. Like him. He had been like a diamond, clear and fair but able to cut deeply. 

So she scavenged a living as best as she could, living only to eat for the next day. Her hair became long and dirty, so she hacked it off with a knife. She begged for scraps at a squat house that was built leaning up against the west wall and was taken in by a tiny old goblin woman who was nearly blind. The woman sat the girl down on a stool and fed her the first warm meal she had eaten in a while. In exchange for household chores the little woman struggled to do, she was given a pallet in front of a warm fire and fairly consistent food. 

The woman had been growing herbs in a small plot of dirt and she took over the job of weeding, watering and tending. When the herbs were hung, dried and packed into linen bags to sell in the market, it became her job to venture forth and set up a small table in a corner of the market and sell what she could. It was there she began to learn more about him. She sat quietly when the others talked of the King, listening, not making it obvious that she was doing so. She learned about how he governed and the kind of person he was, and was surprised that most of his subjects spoke of him respectfully. It seemed he ruled his kingdom well and fairly, even if he was harsh when it came to handing out punishment. 

She grew brave and ventured to the part of the city that was just outside the castle gates, hoping for what, she did not know. The day she first caught a glimpse of him, nearly six months after she had come to the Underground, she felt a strange mix of hate, rage, fascination and some other emotion she could not define. The urge to rush out and grab his horses bridle, to reveal who she was and demand that she be returned home was so great that she dug her fingernails into her palms to try and calm herself. She would be dead before she got within five feet of him. The black clad warriors with the stony faces went everywhere he did, and were all effectively armed. So she bided her time. She was careful to stay out of his sight and inconspicuous, blending into the shadows with the dark cloak she had purchased with her share of the money she had helped earn. 

Then the old woman grew sick and took to bed permanently, so she took over growing and selling her herbs entirely, taking care of the woman as she had been taken care of. She fed and bathed her, and when the woman reached up and touched her face, fingers seeing what her eyes could not, and asked why she, a human, was hiding away. The girl told her a little of whom she was. She did not say that she had been the one to defeat the Labyrinth – she had since heard in the marketplace of the backlash of her actions. She learned of the damage that she had done to the kingdom and the one who ruled it. So she held her tongue and said nothing about that part of her life, leaving the woman to make assumptions about where she had come from. 

She continued to go to the markets every day and sought whenever she could to get a glimpse of him. But never did she try to approach him; never did she get any closer than the shadows. He was upright and beautiful as he rode his grey, his face impassive as he looked out over his city and went about his affairs, conducted his business quietly and with efficiency, dealt out justice to those who required it, and punishment to those who had earned it. 

He became her obsession, and as time passed, he became the reason that she got up every morning and went out to the city. She lived to catch her forbidden glimpses of him, and devoured every tidbit of information she could get about him. He was her sun, her moon, and she did not know when the strong emotions she had felt towards him had turned into passion. He haunted her dreams at night, and her waking hours. But she never allowed herself to get close.

When he dances, he moves me to a smile  
And I see everything near him shine  
There’s a grace in his ways that I can’t contain  
I haven’t that grace  
Oh I haven’t that grace... 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He lay in the soft, wide bed of his country estate, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He was sleepless again, the events of the day playing on his mind. How many times would he think he’d seen her until he forgot her? He doubted that the effects of what she had caused would ever be forgotten entirely. He smiled to himself wryly. Not only had none defeated his Labyrinth before, but no one had ever refused an invitation like the one he had given. And he had offered it with as much of his heart as he was able. He understood a different concept of love than she did. But even so, she had turned away and thrown it back in his face. He closed his eyes then, feeling a mix of anger and rejection, still so fresh after all this time. 

He still was not entirely certain why that particular human had affected him so strongly. After all, there were many humans in his realm; children who had been wished away and grown up, happier in the Fair Realm than they would have been with families who did not want them. But none of them had a spirit like hers, a bright flame that he could see clearly burning within her heart. She hid nothing of her emotions, her intentions. It had been refreshingly different from the Faeran among whom trickery and deceit were a first nature. 

He admitted he had used many of her emotions against her, to shape the Labyrinth and himself into what she had expected to see. At the same time he had to respect her openness. It was something he could never allow himself, as it would enable those who were hungry for more power and prestige to gain a foothold over him. The closest he had come to showing a little of his real self was when he offered her a place in his kingdom, in his heart. But he had learned his lesson there. Never again. 

He wondered idly whether she or Toby had come across the spell he had sent back with them. It had been a wish spell, and its function was fairly simple. One simply had to hold it and it would grant whatever wish was dearest in their heart. He frowned. There had been times when he regretted letting it go across, but he thought little Toby would have used the wish already, gaining some thing his childish heart wanted most. Again he regretted the boundaries he had placed on himself which stopped him from finding out what had happened to them, but he would keep his word to himself. Rolling himself onto his stomach, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The old woman was fading. She’d never been around someone who was dying before, but even she began to recognize the signs. The goblin woman barely moved, breathed shallowly, and seemed to be in constant pain. She did not know what was wrong with her, but the woman refused any offers she made to go and get help. She seemed content just to have company, to not be alone as she took her final journey. 

Her mind began to wander back to her childhood as she neared the end, and she spoke often about her life. She’d had a husband and children, used to live in a farm outside the city. When they had been killed in a conflict with a neighboring kingdom, the King had given her this little patch of land inside the city gates. She hadn’t lived grandly, but she had been able to make enough living to support herself all these years. She had been content. Now she spoke of going to meet her family again, and where the woman could not hear her, the girl wept. She longed every day for her family, for her parents, and her brother. She wished there was some way of letting them know she was alive. Surely they would have given up hope by now. It had been three years, and she would have left no clues behind, nothing to point to where she had disappeared to.

One morning, when she went to check on the old woman, she found she had slipped away in the night. She could not help but grieve for her passing, and took the money that they had saved together and asked the undertaker to bury her outside the city, closer to her family. 

She cleaned, packed her few possessions in a small bundle, took the last of the sellable herbs, and went next door to the small family of goblins who lived there. They had three small children, and though she hadn’t much to do with them, they knew who she was. She offered them the land and shack, and they accepted it. They did not strictly thank her, as direct gratitude in the Underground could be a dangerous thing, and used against you at a later date, but she saw it in the wife’s eyes. Their own shack was much too small for a growing family. This would give her the room she so desperately needed. Sarah shouldered her burden and set her sights on the castle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah is adrift, and goes to change her circumstances. We meet a member of Jareth's immediate family.
> 
> * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The King sighed as he sat in his throne, one hand over his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, as trouble on his borders had occupied much of his attention recently. Two tribes who had been at peace for the last several years had broken the treaty that he had carefully crafted and put in place, and there had been several deaths on both sides. In order to stop it from escalating into a full blown war, he had been meeting with the leaders, trying to stop them from leaping over the table and throttling each other with their bare hands. Old grudges ran deep and the shouting back and forth meant he had ended the last few days with a headache. It was not something he enjoyed dealing with, but was necessary. 

He could not allow such conflict to exist within his kingdom, and despite the often chaotic appearance of his throne room, he savored order. His own quarters he maintained simply, the quality of furnishings enough to satisfy his desire for beauty, but with few fripperies. The Jareth that Sarah had imagined was a little more ornate than he usually chose to be, but still not far from the truth. He smirked to himself. There he was, thinking of her again. His smile turned to a grimace as the pounding in his head increased, and with a twist of his hand, he conjured a crystal and spoke into it. 

“Gwyneth, bring me wine. And some herbs for this infernal headache.” Within a few moments, a tall, thin woman walked through the door, paying her obeisance briefly before walking up the dais to the throne. She had long dark hair with silver streaks bound behind her like a horse’s tail, and wore a simple black robe. She was clearly Gentry like him. She had the same alien cast to her features, the otherworldliness that could not always be called beauty, but was unmistakable. In one hand she held a silver goblet, and over her shoulder was slung a worn leather pouch. Jareth waved a hand wearily at her and she placed her pouch and the goblet on a small table next to the throne. 

“Still dealing with the eastern tribes, hm? You know, cousin, you could have said please.” She did not smile, but her eyes were amused. Jareth glared at her but relented.

“Please. I can not be bothered playing nice today, you should know that.” 

She did smile then. “I do, cousin, I do.” 

Pulling out a small stone mortar and pestle, with careful deliberation she selected several small bags from within the larger one. Sprinkling a pinch or two from each of them, she ground the mixture finely and sprinkled it into the cup of wine she had been carrying. Jareth grumbled again.

“I do wish you hadn’t felt need to put it in the wine. I cannot even enjoy it now.”

“You know wine will only make your headache worse, and I knew this was the only way I could get you to take them.” She held out the goblet to him. He sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled rather like his boots after a long, hot days ride. Nonetheless he downed it in several gulps. Taste aside, he could feel the effects quickly, and felt his frayed nerves begin to soothe. The herbs did much to ease the tension in his shoulders and neck, and he felt the headache begin to release its hold on his brain. Gwyneth lifted the pale hair off his forehead with one hand and looked into his odd eyes. She read the strain there and sighed. 

“You know, it will do no one any good if you work yourself into an early grave. You really need to learn to delegate more.”

“It is very easy to say, cousin, but more difficult to accomplish. Cuinn is attending court matters at the Ard Righ’s palace in my stead, and who else can I trust? His brother is too young yet, too impulsive. Although given a few decades he may hold some promise. No, Gwyneth, this is on my shoulders for the moment.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the throne. “It will be over soon enough. I nearly have them at a mutual agreement.” The woman was replacing the herbs into her bag, and tipped the residual powder from the stone mortar into a piece of parchment. Folding it into a small package, she gave it to him.

“Take the last of this before you retire tonight. And do not throw it out – I will find out and make you take it tomorrow as well.” She grinned at him now, and he had recovered enough spirit to raise an eyebrow and smirk back at her.

“I believe you would, too, damn woman. Do not fear, I will take your foul concoction again. I can not complain when it actually does make me feel better.” He suspected she had imbued it with some of her therapeutic magic also. His own magic did not work in ways of healing, so he was grateful for hers. His father and her mother had been siblings, and they had grown up together, neither with siblings of their own. Although she was older than him by several years, she never sought to control any of the power which could have rightfully been hers, instead content to give him support, staying in the background. He valued her counsel and her company, although he would never let that be known to his other advisers. She knew him better than anyone. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Leaving the throne room and her cousin behind, Gwyneth made her way down the long stone halls to her quarters. Her bedchamber was tiny, enough room for a single small table and a narrow cot, but it opened up to her airy workshop which was at least four times the size. Wide wooden benches lined the walls, and the ceiling was hung thickly with drying herbs. Glass bottles, beakers, bowls, wooden and silver utensils, leather pouches and bags, mortars of wood, stone and marble all covered the surfaces. One bench was nearly covered by a drying rack, on which roots of many sizes and colours were drying. The center of the room held a four-sided stove, its huge stone chimney rising to meet the ceiling. On its cooking surface a small bronze pot was bubbling. Gwyneth stopped to lift the lid briefly and sniff at its contents. 

She walked to the large glass doors and opened those outwards, allowing fresh air to stream into the room. Outside those doors lay a large inner courtyard, lush and overgrown, filled with herbs, spices, small trees with fragrant leaves and bark that also bore resins and sap, and vines covering much of the stone walls that surrounded it. Against the far wall was a tiny shed full of tools, and an equally tiny bunkhouse. The garden was only accessible through her private quarters, and was where she spent much of her time. Even so, it was almost more than she could maintain on her own, thus it’s slightly overgrown state. Gwyneth laughed a little at her own understatement, and rolled up her sleeves. She was herbalist and healer to most of the castle, and the many ‘accidents’ the goblins got themselves into meant she was partly a surgeon also. That alone was enough to keep her busy from dawn to dusk. She tied on her muddy apron and pulled out a pair of gloves. There were coneflowers that needed harvesting, and she had been about to begin before being called away. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sarah sat in the smaller gatehouse leading to the servants’ quarters, waiting. Without knowing what else to do and where to go, she had knocked at the low wooden door set in the thick stone wall and when it was opened, had stuttered out a request for work. The goblin guard who had opened the door had let her in and sat her down on a low bench, while he went to fetch the housekeeper. Sarah was strongly considering opening the door and running away when suddenly she saw a stout human woman approaching. Dressed in the house colours of midnight blue and crimson, she scowled at the young girl, noting her rather drab appearance, short hair, and dark robes. 

“So ye are seeking work, is it?” Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had felt the rather disapproving way she was looked upon, and wanted to shrink into the floor. Her appearance had not been uppermost in her mind these last years. The woman reached and grasped her chin; tilting her head up with one hand and pushing her hood back fully with the other. Gray eyes widened slightly.

“Ye’re human. What,” she asked, “is a human doing askin’ for occupation in the castle. Don’t ye have a home, family?” Sarah shook her head and answered as truthfully as she could,

“Died, a few days ago. I don’t have anywhere else to go.” The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she seemed to accept the story. 

“Well, what can ye offer? I’ll not have freeloaders livin’ under my roof.” Sarah hadn’t thought that far ahead, and her mind raced. 

“I’ve been tending and selling herbs. In the market place. If there is a garden, maybe I could be set to work there...” she looked around as she spoke. Most of the courtyard was pebbled, few green things to be seen. Her heart sank a little, but she was determined even if it meant scrubbing floors or dishes. One part of her mind was warning her of the danger of getting any closer to him, but she steadfastly ignored it, as she had been doing for some time now. She looked back and met the woman’s eyes, and hoped. 

“Hmph. Well, ye may just be in luck. I’ll have to ask, but ye may wait in the kitchen. Come.” She turned, and without looking back to see if Sarah was following, walked briskly towards a nondescript door set deeply into the castle wall. Opening it, Sarah could see a small set of stairs leading down into a large room, and the smells wafting through the open door confirmed which room this was. Once inside, the woman sat her down at a large trestle table and went off to speak with one of the cooks, a thin and wiry goblin man with hair that looked as though birds had nested in it not long ago. The two turned to look at her, and then the woman came over to her once more.

“Ye’ll be fed, so sit here quietly while I go and see to this.” She made to leave and then turned back. “Ye can call me Ingrid.”

The thin goblin man brought over an earthenware bowl of hot broth and a cob of dark bread and plunked them down in front of her. He grinned cheerfully, showing a mouth full of large, stained teeth, his tiny black eyes twinkling. 

“Eat! It’s good. I’m the best cook here, you’ll see.” His voice was oddly deep and resonant, seemingly out of place coming from such a thin, tree-like person. She smiled weakly, trying to be polite even though the smell of garlic on his breath threatened to overwhelm her. She supposed it could have been worse.

“Thank you.” She dipped a wooden spoon in the rich broth and began to eat, tearing off chunks of the bread to dip in as she went. It was good, and she had no doubt the little man had not been bragging about his prowess. She hadn’t eaten food this tasty since... well, since she had come here. It reminded her of the chicken soup her stepmother made for her when she was sick once and stayed home from school a whole week. School seemed like such a foreign concept now, as well as university, getting a respectable job, family holidays, taxes, cars, electricity, and fashion. All of these were irrelevant in the Underground. If she went home today, could she settle back into what she had considered to be a normal life? Sarah would not allow herself to think about that. She had to live only for the day she was in, as she had been doing for the last few years. It had kept her going. 

She reached the bottom of the bowl and used the last of her bread to wipe it clean. Sighing, she turned and smiled her thanks properly at the little cook this time, and he beamed in return. She stifled a smile. He reminded her of an animated twig. He was thin, brown and leathery. Sarah began to feel drowsy; it was just after midday, and she was warm and well fed. The main source of light in the kitchen came from the huge stoves roaring at each end of the kitchen, and the dimness made her want to put her head down on the table and rest. 

Just as she was about to give in to temptation, she noticed Ingrid coming back through a low archway, followed by a tall, slender woman with dark hair. Sarah noticed immediately that she was one of Them, the Gentry, and fear gripped her. The woman’s eyes were midnight blue, and she was dressed rather drably, like Sarah herself. Unusual enough for the Folk, who were usually more brightly and lavishly dressed. She walked straight to Sarah and repeated the examination she had received earlier from the other woman, eyes probing Sarah’s after glancing over the rest of her. She tried to meet her eyes without flinching, but it was difficult. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gwyneth frowned to herself. She did not recognize this human, and she was sure she had seen, at least once in their infancy, every human child Jareth had taken into his kingdom. She was usually pretty good about matching the grown humans to their childish forms. But still, there was something familiar about this human. Gwyneth decided to let it go, and began to quiz the girl on what she truly knew. 

“What do you know of tending gardens?” Sarah began to list, in a trembling voice, the duties she had been responsible for; weeding, mulching, watering, pruning, drying and preparation, seed collecting, and propagating. The tall woman watched her closely, and she wanted nothing more than to crawl under the table. As she began to run out of things to list, she saw the woman nod once to Ingrid, and held up a hand to stop the already faltering flow of words. 

“You’ll do, for the moment. Ingrid, clean her up and send her to my quarters. I’ll see then if she really knows what she’s talking about.” She turned on her heel and left, and without a word the human woman led Sarah by the elbow through a separate doorway. After passing down a flight of stairs and through a short hallway with no windows, they came to a door and opened it to a cloud of steam. Sarah squinted and could make out what seemed to be a large bath set into the ground, steam rising from its surface. Rough towels were piled along the benches lining the walls, and Sarah saw what looked like a stone trough with wooden buckets inside. The woman directed her to remove her clothes, and blushing, Sarah did so. They were bundled into a chute in the wall, and she wondered whether she would see them again. 

She was pushed towards the trough and sat down on a low stool. Before she could think a bucket of icy cold water was dumped on her head, and she gasped in shock. Ingrid then picked up a huge piece of yellow soap that looked like it had been carved from a large block and began to scrub her hair furiously. She was none too gentle and brought tears to Sarah’s eyes more than once. The medicinal smell of the soap made part of her brain wonder if it was simply to clean the layers of dirt and grease on her, or perhaps to repel other, more unwelcome visitors that may have been present on herself. A final bucket of cold water and then she was half picked up by a hand on the elbow and led to the pool. Sarah must have looked confused because the woman finally spoke.

“Hot springs. Those who built this castle centuries ago took advantage of the naturally hot water. Did ye notice we were heading downwards to get here?” Sarah nodded. “This room is in the basement level.” With that she gave a Sarah a push and she walked down the tiled steps into the water. The water was steaming and Sarah sunk down to on one of the low benches that lined the pool. She had not had a hot bath, since... well. It had been a while. She took a breath and dunked her head under, feeling the warmth down to her bones.

“Come girl, no time to languish today.” Sarah sighed a little but stood obediently and walked out. She looked down at herself. She was still thinner than she’d like to be, but cleaner than she had been in a long time. Her skin practically glowed pink. She was handed a large coarse towel and quickly dried herself, then led into a small room on the side. It was lined from top to bottom with shelves stacked with piles of cloth in the same colours the woman herself wore. Going to a particular shelf the woman pulled down an article of clothing and shook it out. It was a simple dress in midnight blue and crimson, that was much like the older woman’s. Handing it to Sarah, she went to another shelf and collected some simple linen undergarments, then a final trip for a pair of plain leather slippers and a belt. Sarah hurriedly dressed. The dress hung on her a little but she cinched her belt tighter. She was not about to complain. The human woman stood back and looked at her critically.

“Better. Can’t do anything about that hair of yourn,” she looked unimpressed “but ye’ll do for now. Take care of these, and ye’ll have to do any mending yourself if ye rip them.” Sarah nodded. “Come on then – her Ladyship will be waiting.” They left the change room and made their way back aboveground, Sarah almost running in the older woman’s brisk wake. She felt very exposed, as she had not gone without a hood for some time now, and the need for it had become second nature. So she kept her head down and did not pay much attention to where she was going. After what seemed like a lifetime, they reached a small wooden door. Ingrid knocked and it was opened after a few moments by the tall Fae woman from the kitchen. Ingrid curtseyed and pushed Sarah forward, whispering,

“Mind yer manners. Work hard and ye’ll do well.” Before she could turn and thank her, she was inside and the door had slammed behind her. She looked around a little fearfully. The room was tiny and Spartan. 

“What is your name, girl?” the woman’s voice was brisk and no-nonsense. Sarah went blank in panic for a moment. She did not dare reveal her true name; no one had asked her outright before. The old goblin woman had simply called her “lass”. For a moment she recalled that giving your true name in the Underground gave others power over you. She could not remember if that was a story or the truth. Her mind flitted around then landed on a solution.

“Una. I am called... Una.” It had been the name of the old woman’s daughter, who had been killed long ago. One fine black eyebrow shot upwards, but the woman said nothing. 

“I am Lady Gwyneth. Do not worry, child, I don’t eat humans for breakfast.” A flash of humour shone briefly in her eyes, and Sarah supposed she must have looked frightened.

“Well, come through then.” She turned and walked through the doorway into her workshop, then through the glass doors into the garden. Sarah had a brief impression of steam and fragrance and drying herbs and then squinted as they walked into full daylight. After her eyes adjusted, she stared around her at the huge garden, full and green and lush. The Lady was already walking down one of the woodchip-strewn pathways, and Sarah hurried to catch up. She was heading for a couple of small sheds built against the far wall. As they reached them Sarah noticed one had windows, and on the stone floor outside the door was a thick, rolled up pad of some sort, and what looked like bedding. The Lady opened the door and gestured inside.

“You’ll have to clean it up for yourself, but the roof doesn’t leak, and there’s a small stove you can use to heat in winter.”

Sarah looked through and saw a couple of bunks suspended from the ceiling, rope ladders leading up to them, and a small table and chair. The earthen stove was built against the stone wall, and there was what looked like a water pump in one corner. Several buckets, one with a wooden cover, stood next to it, and a small bronze pot hung above the stove. Seeing little else, she bent down and picked up the roll of bedding, dropping it inside the door. The Lady then beckoned her to follow once more, and went to the shed which was beside it. Opening the door, Sarah saw rows of tools, in various states of disrepair, leather gloves, barrels of fertilizer, blood and bone, lime, and other substances, rakes, shovels, trowels, buckets of leather and wood, rope, twine, stakes, and trellises. The Lady swung the door shut and turned to face Sarah.

“So, do you think you can handle this?” Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to say anything. The Lady’s eyes sparked again and this time she almost smiled. “Very well.” She glanced upwards at the suns position, it was just past midday. “You may spend the rest of the afternoon preparing your quarters. Come inside when the sun sets and you will have dinner. And, Una,” she reached out a hand a touched her shoulder. At the contact, Sarah felt a shiver of something move over her. The Lady removed her hand, and seemed satisfied. A ghost of a smile came over her face for a moment, and she turned and walked back through the doors into her workshop. Sarah was left with an odd, quivery feeling, unsure as to what had just happened. With a slightly bewildered sigh – so much had happened and changed already in her circumstances since she woke up this morning – she turned and walked back through the garden.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Gwyneth watched her go, and wondered yet again who this young human was. She did not believe for a moment that she had given her real name, but was content to let her refer to herself however she wanted. The glamour-dispersing spell she had cast had shown nothing out of the ordinary. She was indeed human. But she was not all that she seemed. The hazel eyes held something familiar, but she was not sure just what it was. She determined to watch the girl, and would let her cousin know of the human’s presence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition is harrrddddd. For those who know herbal medicine, what herb is an excellent relaxant, stomach tonic, and also smells like filthy socks?


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of daily life, some character work, and the plot thickens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the last, but hopefully serves its purpose!

It was nearing the middle of Lúil, and the heat had been oppressive for weeks. Life in the castle moved at a slow pace during the day, many seeking to rest during the midday hours. It came to life in the evening, however, servants human and goblin bustling to complete jobs that had been neglected. Jareth had left for the Ard Righ’s Summer residence to attend court matters several weeks earlier. He had taken his closest advisor, Cuinn, with him, and left the general running of the castle to Gwyneth. He did not intend to be gone any longer than he had to be. 

Sarah worked and learned, grew brown in the sun, and slowly began to put on a little weight – now when she looked down, she could not see all her ribs. The tiny shed she slept in was stifling in the heat, but it was hers, and she kept it as clean as she could. Some days she would eat in the workshop by herself, sometimes the Lady was working, but Sarah never saw her eat. She never saw her sleep for that matter. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the Folk did not need either. She never asked about Jareth, and since she did not spend much time with the other servants, her previous method of following his movements was obsolete.

The only one she really got to know was the little goblin cook, whose name she discovered was Cruet. When she did not eat her food in the workshop, she would often descend into the cavernous kitchen, waiting until after the other servants had eaten. Cruet came to expect her at a later hour, and always fed her with his usual cheerful grin. If he was not too busy directing the other kitchen hands he would sometimes chatter to her, his little black eyes sparking in his wrinkled face. She learned that his wild hair would actually stand up on end if he got excited or upset, and she often hid her smile behind her sleeve, not wanting to offend the little man. 

He talked about life in the castle, his kitchen, his recipes, and many of the humourous anecdotes he heard from the other servants. She did not always ask him specific questions, but he seemed content to talk, having found someone willing to listen. From him she heard a great deal of the castles history, and it was from him she learned the age of the Goblin King, that he was nearly half a millennia. She found it difficult to grasp that among his own kind, he was still a relatively young man. She heard how the land they were on was originally claimed by his grandparents, and how the magical Labyrinth was built, tied by magic and blood to every generation of Jareth’s family. 

He covered a wide range of subjects. She heard gossip about the other servants, who was paired up with who, who had wronged such and such, and so on. Market prices, who was overcharging and who was selling faulty goods (some of these names she recognized from her time in the outer city), politics, scandal, and rumors. He made her laugh, and she spent many evenings down in the kitchen with him.

“Little sprout,” he would start, his deep voice rolling, “let me tell ye about what happened to old Turlough the human, and his terrible daughter.” He worked as he talked, clattering copper pans together, lifting lids, stirring and tasting. His long arms and fingers were never still, and he reminded her even more of a very lively animated tree.

“The two of them lived just outside the castle wall, in a wee stone shack that had been built by his father. He was a quiet sort, never asked for no trouble, and had always lived a simple and honest life. There were those that said he wasn’t the sort to strive to better himself – he was satisfied with who he was, even if no-one else was. His wife had passed away when the girl was just a young lass, leaving him to raise her on his own. Well, the lass grew up quickly and soon took to managin’ him. She had a tongue as sharp as steel and a quick wit about her. ‘Twas said ye couldn’t get within ten feet of her before ye felt yer ears begin to burn! She harped at her father day and night to get out and earn more money for them, so they could move up in the world. She herself was tight fisted, and stretched every penny they had so thin you could near see through them!”

“Well, one night, an ominous night it was, to be sure, thunder an’ lightning burstin’ all around, and a wind that near blew the hair off me own head,” he paused to run his twiggy fingers through his wild hair with a grin, “on that night they was sitting in front of the fire, and Bronagh – for that were the daughters name – was darnin’ a basket full of her father’s socks. She hadn’t allowed him a new pair in years, and they looked as though they had black spiders crawlin’ all over them, so much had they been mended already.” 

“Well, as they sat there, suddenly a knockin’ came from their door. The father got up to answer it, but Bronagh stayed him with a hand.”

“‘Tis likely to be some beggar lookin’ for shelter. We’ll have none ‘o that, sit ye down, father.’ The father meekly did as he was told. But soon the knockin’ came again. It was so persistent that in the end Bronagh herself got up to answer the door.”

“She opened it, and standing in the doorway was a little old goblin woman, twisted and gnarled, her face hooded behind her dirty, tattered cloak. Well, Bronagh had even less love for goblins than she did for most anyone else, and she made to shut the door in the woman’s face. But the woman stuck out her staff and caught the door, and try as she might the girl could not shut it. The rain and wind blew in around her.”

“‘Old woman, what do ye want?’”

“‘Daughter of Eve, I seek only shelter and food for the night.’ The woman’s voice was like stone on stone.”

“‘We have none here. We don’t take in beggars!’ and she tried to shut the door again. The little woman’s strength was great, and the door stayed open. The woman peered around the edge of it and saw the room, bright with firelight, and supper on the table.”

“‘But, Daughter of Eve, I see plenty of victuals, and a place by the fire. Can ye not share them?’”

“‘Nay, old woman, there be no place here for ye. Now go!’ a third time she tried to close the door, but this time with a flick of her wrist, the old woman flung it open. Bronagh was thrown backwards into the room, and a great wind rushed in, dampening the fire and scattering ashes all over. Old Turlough cowered in his chair, and even the daughter now looked with fear in her eyes. The old goblin woman strode to the center of the room, and flung off her cloak. There before them stood one of the Folk, tall and beautiful, dressed richly in silk and gold. Her name was Caoilainn the Fair, and she was known by all folk for her beauty and great power. Now the human woman knew what error she had committed but sought to make amends.”

“‘Oh, Great Lady, how was I to know ye were who ye were? If ye had said your name, I would have given ye anything ye asked for.’ But an elegant upheld hand silenced her.”

“‘Daughter of Eve, you have shown your true nature. It should not have mattered if I was goblin, human, or Fae. Your selfish heart has shown itself to me. And you,’ she levelled her gaze on the father, who hadn’t moved from fear, ‘you are also at fault. You did not stay the selfishness of your daughter’s actions, and did not speak when you should have spoken. The fault is as much yours for your indolence.’”

“‘Now,’ she pronounced, ‘your punishment. You will live as those that you so despise, and to grow a greater understanding and compassion for others.’ The man and his daughter were both weeping now, but she was unmoved. With a wave of her hand, the two humans were transformed into the most hideous, ugly examples of my kind that were ever seen. They ran wailing into the stormy night, and never were heard from again.” His eyes were twinkling with mirth, and he chuckled to himself. Sarah was a little horrified, and asked meekly,

“Do all the Folk do that sort of thing? Roam around and turn... others... into other things?” The little man shook his head.

“Nay, sprout, but the Lady Caoilainn takes a particular interest in the lives of those beneath her. She is the daughter of a High Court official, and was born with an exceptional amount of power. But mostly the Folk keep to their own business, leaving the rest of us in peace.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sarah dreamed of home often, and even while she was out in the garden, her mind would often wander and imagine what her family were doing. She tried to picture what Toby looked like now, how he was growing up, his laugh, and his smile. Sometimes tears mingled with the sweat running from her face as she worked, and she wiped them both away with the back of a gloved hand. She had never stopped missing her parents, and wished there was some way she could let them know she was alright, alive, and thinking of them. 

One night as she was sleeping fitfully in the heat, she dreamed of Toby. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him sleep. He was nearly seven, and his blond hair had lost none of its curl. Suddenly he sat up and saw her there. 

“Sis!” his eyes lit up with joy. “You came back! I always knew you would.” He automatically reached to hug her, but his arms passed through Sarah without making contact and he fell forward on the covers. Sitting back up, he looked around for a moment, then said; “Are we dreaming?” Sarah nodded. She did not trust herself to speak. Already she could feel tears welling in her eyes and spilling down her ghostly cheeks. 

“Where have you been, sis? We’ve missed you. Why did you go away?” at this Sarah gave way, put her head into her hands and sobbed. It was too much for her to bear, he seemed so real. He reached out a hand to pat her head, but with the same result as before. His chin began to wobble also, and sensing his distress, Sarah lifted her head and wiped her eyes, fighting to gain control.

“Toby...” her voice was rough with tears. “I’m... I’m alright, Toby. I don’t know how to get home, but I’m alright. I wish I was really able to tell you this. I wish...” she bit her lip as fresh tears spilled over. Toby was looking at her with a furrowed brow, and he seemed to come to some kind of decision, nodding to himself.

His eyes took on a determination that made him seem older than his seven years. 

“I’ll find you, sis. I don’t care how, I know you’re alive somewhere and I’ll find you.”

“Toby... you can’t. I’m not...” she hesitated, unsure of how much to say. She had always avoided mentioning the Underground to him, even when he asked about dwarves and fairies and goblins. And she certainly did not want him getting involved in a fruitless search.

“I’ll ask him.” He grinned and suddenly the dream was over and she was awake, sweating in the dark.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jareth was also awake in the dark, unable to sleep because of the heat. His quarters in the Summer Palace were much more luxurious than he normally favored. Rich tapestries and drapes covered every wall and window, costly rugs covered nearly every inch of the stone floor, and dark, imposing furniture felt as though it overcrowded the room. The tapestries collected an incredible amount of dust, and the drapes were drawn over the closed windows. He felt as though he was suffocating, lying there in the darkness, on top of mounds of feather pillows and coverlets. 

Finally he got up, and wearing only his breeches, walked to a window and with a heave, pulled back the drapes. Leaning into the stone recess, he unlatched the latticed window and pushed it open. Air that was marginally cooler than inside his room rushed in, and he leaned forward, breathing deeply of the night atmosphere. The moon was waning and cast little light over the towers and turrets of the palace. A slight breeze blew through the many pennants and flags hanging from the spires and set them fluttering gently. He breathed in again, savoring the sweet night air. 

As he was about to turn and go back to his bed, he sensed something. Something that tickled at the edges of his awareness, something he hadn’t sensed in a long time. Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind and listened. It came into his consciousness like distant waves crashing onto the shore, becoming stronger as it neared. It was a Call. Someone was summoning him. He did not know whom, but the force of their will was strong indeed. He turned his mind towards its source; it was coming from the world Above.

For a moment his concentration faltered. He had not had a Call from Above since she had summoned him. What a disaster that had been. Not only had she conquered his Labyrinth and taken back the child, she had shattered one of the most powerful coercive glamours he had ever cast with a few simple words and her damned single minded determination. 

For months afterwards he had felt the effects of the magical backlash, which had been also physically reflected in his kingdom. As King, he was emotionally tied to the Land itself, and felt its pain. Entire sections of the city had crumbled; an entire wing in his castle had nearly collapsed. The Labyrinth itself had convulsed as though in pain, shaking the land itself and causing more damage. He had taken a long time to recover. 

The Call came again, stronger this time, and he re-focused his attention. He began to get a picture in his mind of the individual who was making it, and their location. A very familiar location. A place that he had been particularly careful to ignore. The third time the Call came, its strength of will was enough to nearly grab him and pull him through the portal, He gave in, stepped up onto the windowsill and threw himself off, changing mid-flight into his owl form. Wheeling back into the room, he flew straight into the mirror, disappearing with a ripple like a stone thrown into water.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jareth exercises some poor judgement, Gwyneth wonders what the heck is going on, and Jareth's most trusted advisor is creatively murdering him in the back of his mind.

Toby was still sitting up in his bed, still in his pajamas, but the expression of deep concentration on his face had been replaced by fear and wonder. There he stood, just as he had remembered him. Tall, elegant, blond, dressed in black. His odd eyes shone with strange fire, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line, suppressing some emotion Toby could not recognize. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Toby knew now that he had been real, and with that, he knew where Sarah was.

“Where is she?” he demanded, trying not to feel scared. The presence that radiated off the Underworld being was enough to make his teeth chatter. He remembered that feeling from before; it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. An elegant eyebrow went up.

“Well, I must say, I did not think I would see you again. You would think one summons in a lifetime was enough, hm?” The crisp voice was deceptively friendly. His arms unfolded and he walked slowly towards the bed. Toby shrank back a little. The being was angry, and he was not sure if it was his fault or not. All he knew was he had to get answers.

“Where is she?” he repeated, this time his voice shaking a little. 

“Where is whom, Toby?”

“My sister. You know where she is, don’t you?” The accusing words came out sounding more like a plea. The Goblin King frowned.

“And why do you suppose I’ve been keeping track of her? She made her choice when she nearly destroyed me on your last little visit.”

“She went missing. Mom and Dad thought she might have run away or been kidnapped but I dreamed about her and I know you took her, didn’t you?” his words came out in a rush, tumbling over each other. Jareth held up a hand to silence him.

“I do not simply take humans when I feel like it. Unless your sister was wished away, it was not I who took her.” Toby looked at him a little suspiciously. 

“But... you can still look for her, can’t you? With your magic?” The Goblin King sighed.

“Toby. Your sister broke any power I may have had on her before she left my world. I can not simply look for her just because you want me to. Even magic has its limits.” He refrained from mentioning the geas that he had placed on himself to prevent him from watching her in the first place. He was breaking it in a fashion simply by being there, but a Call was a Call. The child was still looking at him hopefully.

“Humans... things happen. People... disappear.” He hated himself for sounding hesitant. He drew himself up, crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

“It is a hard lesson to learn, boy, but one that you must. Life goes on; you lose people that you love.” Tears were gathering in those devastating blue eyes. Jareth sighed inside. He found it difficult to give any comfort, as he himself was Gentry, and already in his fifth century. The concept of short mortal lives fascinated him greatly but was one that ultimately escaped his comprehension. He closed his eyes and failed to see the stubborn look that crossed Toby’s face.

“I wish... that the Goblin King would come and take me away. Right now.” Jareth opened his eyes and simply looked at him. The boy had set his chin stubbornly. It was an action that mirrored his sister more than he knew. Jareth felt frustration building in him and tried to remain calm.

“It doesn’t work that way, boy.” His teeth were gritted, and he could feel the muscles at the back of his neck beginning to tense again. Damn. He had let this go on too long; he could not allow the boy to continue hoping. A small part of him was watching the scene with regret. This would never have happened if she had not rejected him. He would have protected her for all eternity if she had agreed to be his. He silenced his regret.

“But you have to! I wished myself away, now you have to take me with you. It’s how the story went!” he leaned over and grabbed a small red book off his bedstand. It had been found in the attic when his sister disappeared and as soon as he was able, he read it over and over. The scenes that the book described evoked images so strong in his mind, that he could only call them memories. The stone castle. The goblins. The labyrinth. And most of all, the tall, pale man standing in front of him now, elegant and beautiful. The man whose eyes burned him when he looked into them. 

Jareth looked at the book Toby held, and knew well what was written in it. He had used much of it to shape Sarah’s impressions of the Labyrinth when she had passed through. He’d shaped her interpretations, given her what she wanted, and then nearly lost it all when it was thrown back.... he stopped himself. He could not let himself travel that well worn road. But... perhaps. His eyes took on a feral gleam, and he grinned as if something amused him.

“Toby, I cannot bring your sister back. But perhaps I can give you something.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gwyneth sat on a stool in her workshop, watching the human girl through the glass doors. She worked, hard, said little, and when she thought she was not being watched, wept to herself. She also spent an unusual amount of time gazing up at the castle tower where her cousin had his quarters. 

The girl was pretty enough by human standards. Her dark hair was growing and now reached her shoulders, and was streaked with gold from long hours in the sun. Tanned skin made her large hazel eyes stand out more, and now that her face and body weren’t so starved looking; her cheeks actually had a healthy glow to them. 

She did not think the girl had been his lover. It was rare he took a human to his bed, and she would have known immediately on seeing her, not to mention that if she had been a favourite of his, Jareth would have never let her get to the state she had been in when she arrived at the gates. 

So Gwyneth watched her and said nothing. Her cousin would be home from the Summer Palace soon enough. He did not need to be bothered with this matter. She was sure the petty politics of the other Kings would be enough to give him headaches a-plenty. 

The girl stood and stretched her back, shading her eyes with one gloved hand. She was looking towards the tower again. Gwyneth had to admit that under her care, the garden had reached some semblance of order. It was much greener and lusher than it had been for some time, dotted all over with colourful blossoms. 

The girl was a quick study, and improvised if Gwyneth was not there to ask questions. Even her own workshop had benefited. Utensils were stacked neatly or hanging off their appropriate wall hooks, drying racks had been repaired and stacked neatly, and even the bunches of herbs crowding the ceiling space seemed more uniform than they had been before. 

As if in response to her increasing free time, there had been an inordinate amount of minor disasters occurring, most due no doubt to her cousin’s absence. Goblins were disturbingly good at injuring themselves and others around them, not to mention their fondness for gunpowder. Fortunately most damage of that sort was confined to the city itself. Business boomed for every creature who was a stonemason or carpenter by trade. 

She wondered if his fellow Kings were aware of how much order he actually maintained. She knew most of them looked down on him, with his raggedy subjects, poky lands, bizarre Labyrinth, and, as they saw it, his slightly ‘rural’ ways. But if it weren’t for him, this shabby outpost would likely destroy itself, and spill over to affect the neighboring kingdoms. Goblins seemed to generate chaos wherever they lived, and years of watching her cousin had taught her that it took a firm hand to keep a semblance of order. They were much like children, and needed constant discipline. Truth be told, she looked forward to his coming home, as she was beginning to feel a little frayed at the edges herself. 

There was another reason besides curiosity that the Lady watched the human girl. Another reason she suspected why the garden was doing so well under her care. Every now and then, there was a spark. A spark of something. It was so tiny she almost missed it the first time she saw it. The girl had been pruning back a large woody section of hawthorn, and as she had reached up with one hand, she had brushed the raw end of a freshly cut trunk. Gwyneth had seen a tiny flash from the girls’ fingertips, almost like static electricity. She thought it had been a flare from the sun or some such, but when she reached out with her power to investigate, she had felt a tiny residual trace of magic. She doubted the girl had seen it herself, as her face had been turned towards the shears in her other hand.

It was not unheard of for humans to have magic; however, the majority of those who were born with it never discovered it. It usually manifested itself in particular talents the human would possess. Something that they could do exceptionally well, seemingly without trying. Humans with magic who were taken to the Underground were trained in its use and given a chance to reach their full potential. The reason she had been so shocked to see magic in this girl was because it was not human magic – it was Fae magic. And she wanted to know why.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Sarah knelt down in the dirt again, digging her hands into the earth and pulling up the bright yellow roots of goldenseal. She shook dirt off them and placed them into a flat wicker basket, turning back for more. Her mind was not on the job at hand. She was still thinking about her dream from that night. It had been so real, more real than any of the others she’d had. There had been a different quality to it also. Usually she dreamt of times she had spent together with her family when she was younger, or random images of home. 

This time, despite her inability to interact with her surroundings, she had felt as though she was actually there. And Toby – he was growing up. She had previously only dreamed of him as she had left him, a rambunctious toddler, bright and mischievous. She had never been able to imagine him as he might be now. Her eyes were red and sore today from weeping. 

Her eyes turned towards the tallest tower again. She knew he would be coming home soon. He had left the castle almost as soon as she had arrived, and in one way she was relieved that she wouldn’t be found out. Another part of her felt bereft, and she wondered at the empty feeling that had bloomed within her. That part of her wanted him to find her. A thousand times in her mind since her arrival she had imagined their meeting. He would welcome her with open arms, he would shun her, he had forgotten her, he loved her, and he hated her. He danced with her, threw her into an oubliette, touched her face, and wouldn’t look at her. There were so many uncertainties. So rather than face them, she chose to remain as she was, unknown to him.

 

As night fell Sarah walked towards the doors leading into the workshop. It had been another long, hot day, and Sarah’s shoulders were aching. She had scrubbed the dirt from her hands with soap and a handful of sand and washed her face, and was looking forwards to spending the evening down in the kitchens, listening to Cruet and his outrageous gossip. The air was warm and soft, and she could see through the glass of the doors that there was little light. One single candle burned, as well as the glow cast by the dying stove. Sarah did not know how the Lady could stand to spent the hot days inside hovering around the stove, stirring, smelling and tasting her concoctions. 

Sarah opened the doors and stepped inside. She was walking past the dying embers of the stove, when she suddenly noticed that the Lady was there, sitting in half darkness, watching her. Sarah started in surprise, and dropped an awkward curtsy. 

“I’m sorry, Lady, I didn’t know you were still here.” 

“Hello, Una,” the Lady always paused slightly before saying the name Sarah had given herself. One graceful black eyebrow went up, but Sarah could see her usual half smile faintly in the dark. Sarah stood awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. They did not converse very much, only one would ask the other how the garden was, make a request or two, or perhaps talk a little on herb lore and horticulture. 

Tonight the Lady simply looked at her, dark blue eyes glittering in the firelight. Sarah could not hold her gaze for long and after a few moments had to look to the ground. Before Sarah could stammer an excuse to leave the room, the Lady stood and walked to the bench where the single candle was lit. Sarah watched her pick up the candle and use it to light several others, until some brightness returned to the room. It was then that she noticed food was set out there, and the Lady indicated with a wave of her hand that Sarah was to come over to where it was on the countertop.

“Come, child, eat with me.” Sarah felt her mouth open in surprise, and snapped it shut quickly. She moved to where the Lady was now sitting, and climbed a little warily up onto a stool. The Lady noticed her discomfiture and laughed. The sound of the Folk laughing was like ice breaking, and cherry blossom petals swirling in the wind. 

“I do not eat humans, child. I thought I made that clear already.” Sarah felt her face reddening, and spoke the first thing that came to her head.

“It’s just, I’ve never seen you eat... in here, I mean.”

“I normally take my meals with my cousin, or in the dining room. I do eat, you know.” She chuckled again. 

“Now eat! I assure you, it’s quite safe.” 

Sarah reached for a silver fork and surveyed the dishes set out before her, her stomach roiling with nervousness. She always felt that way around one of the Faeran. Slightly dizzy, a little nauseated, but also exhilaration, as though she were flying. It had taken every ounce of her willpower to pretend it did not affect her when Jareth had been near her, but she knew that she had never been able to hide it completely. She knew it every time he smiled that smile of his, eyes gleaming at her. She had not fully understood it then, the look that made her bones ache. As an adult, she had a little more perception of what he had tried to do, and how he had tried to sway her from her path.

For months after her experience in the Labyrinth, she had dreamed and fantasized about what it would be like to be with him. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be loved by, not a prince, but a King. A King who could work magic, and who would dance with her, and... Her mind tried to fill in the gaps. 

She was staring blankly at the food; fork in hand, when the Lady broke into her thoughts.

“Tell me about yourself, child.” The voice was gentle, and the words deceptively simple, but there was something strangely compelling about it. She felt a kind of pressure gathering around the two of them, like the air before a thunderstorm was about to break. The Lady’s eyes held a peculiar intensity, and glowed in the candle light. Sarah felt her mouth opening almost of its own volition, and her tongue began to move and form words. 

“I’m... I...” with a force of will she closed her mouth, and tried to fight the strange force of will that was gripping her. She gritted her teeth and looked down at her hands, digging her fingernails into her palms until they stung. The Lady blinked once, and then smiled. Sarah felt the tide that had been threatening to sweep her under, lessen, and then let go altogether. 

She looked up at the Lady. Her eyes had darkened again, and lost the glow they had held moments before. She said nothing more, only looked at the human for a moment longer, then picked up a fork and began to eat. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Cuinn strode down the wide, arched stone halls of the Summer Palace, his pace and the muscle that kept twitching in his jaw the physical evidence of the fury that seethed within him. His usually placid nature had been shattered this morning when, upon entering the chambers of his King, he had come upon his Liege breakfasting calmly with a young human boy. A human! Cuinn closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to unclench his teeth and breathe normally. He could not allow his anger to show itself to any of the members of Court, because they would instantly want to know what had stirred the normally impassive eldest son of Aengus the Wise. 

The courtiers loved nothing more than to hover like scavenging birds, waiting till someone showed a sign of weakness, then descending on them with glee to tear them apart and then pick over the corpse. It was all done behind a façade of polite sarcasm, poisoned honey words, and empty smiles. Cuinn had been looking forward to the end of the Summer Court for the year. There was much to be done at home, and like his Liege, he preferred a simpler life with less intrigue and less, well, politics.   
But now... bringing a human to the Court of the Ard Righ! It was idiocy and insanity all rolled into one. Jareth knew just as well as he did that the presence of humans was absolutely unacceptable in the Palace. There were many who despised and resented their mere presence in the Underworld, a prejudice that made his King’s life very difficult at times. Others were simply indifferent and ignored the mortals as though they did not exist, and a certain few actually found them interesting, if a little short lived, and were more than willing to interact with them. 

Jareth was one. With so many humans in his realm, and the very nature of his duties including the taking of unwanted human children, it was impossible for him not to. But even so, he was considered a bit of a radical, an extremist. He had even been known to take mortals as lovers. But even he had never – well, Cuinn conceded, it was not as though a specific law existed that forbade humans from the High Court, but everyone knew that it simply was not done.   
Cuinn stopped walking altogether. Forcing himself to breathe slowly and evenly, he unclenched his fists, straightened his shoulders, and smoothed out his expression, carefully schooling it into its usual calm, unassuming appearance. He resumed his walk. Really, sometimes he wondered why he had pledged himself to such an idiotic King.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't say no to breakfast with the Goblin King. Perhaps it will become a family tradition.   
> Also where has silly Sarah stumbled into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't be trusted to write chapter summaries.

The King who was being violently dismembered in the imagination of his closest advisor was currently lounging in a chair across a small inlaid table from a human child. A fairly simple breakfast was laid out upon it. Pastries, boiled eggs, condiments, and some kind of hot fragrant drink. 

The child’s eyes had not blinked once since he had arrived in the room, still clad in his pajamas, nor had he touched any of the food set out before him. His huge blue eyes constantly traveled around the huge chamber, and always came back to rest on the elegant, dangerously beautiful form with the mismatched eyes. Jareth grinned to himself as he watched the boy. He looked like an owl chick, swinging his head around, open mouthed as he took in his surroundings. 

“Well, boy?” his smile stretched wider, “What do you think?” Toby turned his face towards him and blinked once. 

“Am I still asleep? I have dreams like this sometimes...” his voice trailed off, and he pulled one sleeve of his shirt up, pinching his arm.

“Ow!” Jareth laughed out loud at that, and reached a gloved hand over the table to touch the boy’s head. Toby jumped at the contact, surprised, as though he had been stung, but then looked thoughtful.

“I remember, when you carried me, when I was little, it felt like that too. It was all real, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Toby, it was very real. Your sister did not tell you of it?” he was curious to know how Sarah had explained what had happened to her and her brother. Toby shook his head.

“I would try and tell her about my dreams, but every time I talked about you, she didn’t want to listen anymore.” His blue eyes grew shiny and wet again, and he sniffed. “But then when she went away, I found the story book, and it talked about you!” he looked up at the Goblin King with wide eyes.

“So... if this is all real, does that mean Sarah wished me away? She really didn’t want me?” tears spilled over now, and found their way down his flushed cheeks. Jareth chuckled a little on the inside. He found the wildly swinging emotions of humans fascinating.

“Do you think your sister would have run my Labyrinth if she did not want you back? Child, many had tried and failed during the first hour. Your sister,” a little of the humour drained out of him “was the first to complete it, and win back the child she had wished away.” Toby wiped his eyes on a sleeve and sniffed again. Jareth hooked a white linen handkerchief out from his shirt pocket and gave it to the boy. “I have no doubt she... loved you.” Jareth leaned back in his chair and hooked one leg over the arm. The child’s next question nearly had him falling off it backwards.

“Did you love her?” Jareth’s face remained impassive, but inside he felt as though a scab had been flicked carelessly off an old wound. No-one had ever asked him about his feelings regarding Sarah. In fact, very few of them even knew who she was. His cousin had not been at the castle when the girl had come through. He discussed almost everything with her, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to tell her who had caused his downfall. 

The goblins who had met her had probably already forgotten who she was. They had rather short attention spans. And her ‘traveling companions’ had been no more than fabrications conjured up by her own imagination, another way the Labyrinth had showed her what she had wanted to see. His advisor, the steady, sensible Cuinn, had simply looked on the whole scene with disapproval, as he had again moments before when he entered the room to find the child there. Jareth smiled dangerously, his eyes hard.

“That,” he enunciated in clipped tones, “is not your concern.” He saw the boy shrink back a little and look down at his lap.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “Sarah and Mom both say I ask too many questions.”

“There is nothing wrong with curiosity, but your technique and diplomacy leave a lot to be desired.” Toby looked up at him, confused. Jareth waved a hand at him. “Never mind. It is something you’ll gain with time. Now,” he stood, smoothing the black leather gloves over each finger precisely. The gleam returned to his eyes as he looked at Toby.  
“I brought you back to show you the Underground. What do you want to see?” 

The boy clapped his hands together. “The Bog of Eternal Stench!” 

Jareth snickered. Boys - of any race or ilk - would be boys.

“Unfortunately, we are not in my kingdom. This is the Summer Palace of the Ard Righ – the High King. My palace would be several days journey from here by horse.”

“There are other kings? And can’t you just magic us there?”

“Yes, there are many other kings, and I am only one among many. Not one held in very high regard, thanks to the nature of my Realm. And no; to do that would use up an extremely large amount of my strength. Even magic has its limits, boy.”

“But in the books, magic can do whatever you want it to do!” Toby looked a little disappointed.

“Even in this Realm, there area rules that have to be followed, and a price that must be paid for every action. If I were to transport us both back to my castle, it would leave me exhausted for a whole day.” He neglected to mention the fact that when he took his owl form, he could take himself back to the castle with relative ease in the space of a day. His second form came as naturally to him as breathing.  
“Oh. Well, what can we see here? Dragons? Unicorns? Fairies?” his eyes lit up when Jareth nodded. 

“Yes, there are dragons. The High King himself even boasts that a Unicorn guards his own Royal Forest. Come then, I will show you. It is early enough that my presence is not required in Court for a number of hours yet. We had best not waste what time we have.” 

At his words, Toby’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure mom and dad won’t worry about me?”

“Time... moves differently here. You won’t be missed by them, in fact, they won’t even know you’re gone.” Toby jumped up, all eagerness, and Jareth surveyed him with an amused glance. 

“I think,” he noted dryly, “That we had best find you some suitable attire.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a rainy morning over the city, soft clouds hanging low and dark, rain pattering gently but persistently on the welcoming leaves. The air was warm and humid, and a welcome relief from the intense heat. Sarah had worked a little in the garden at dawn, her wide brimmed hat protecting her from the light shower, but as the water had started to run down the back of her neck despite protection and soaked through her shoes, she soon gave up. She decided to spend the day cleaning her little dwelling and re-organizing the shed – again. 

She was not sure who it was, but she suspected there was some little malevolent spirit who loved to cause chaos out of her order. No matter how many times she tidied, stacked, hung up tools, swept and washed, inevitably the next time she went in, objects were tossed to the floor, scattered about, and dirt tracked in all over the floor. She sighed. Perhaps it was a bruney or house-wight, the kind she had read about as a child in fairy stories. She had, however, thought that they were supposed to be friendly towards people, helpful, not destructive.

Sarah had encountered fairies in the garden many times, and although she had initially been disgusted at Hoggle spraying and killing them, she soon came to understand why. They were voracious little pests, who tore off leaves and nipped off entire blossoms just for fun. They would often eat the bark of certain plants, ringbarking them with their sharp little teeth and killing off entire sections. And they certainly never hesitated to use those teeth when you tried to touch one or catch it by hand. After a couple of weeks and many tiny stinging welts on her hands, Sarah had lost her pity and now wielded a spray gun similar to that which Hoggle had used. She had even taken to keeping a running tally, just as he had.

She stood at the door of the shed and sighed. Just as she had thought – her hard work undone yet again. Tools were scattered all over, and a couple of sacks of fertilizer had been opened and scattered. Sometimes Sarah wondered why she kept bothering to clean it up. As she was about to step inside, the rain ceased. She looked upwards, thankful for a chance to avoid a job she hated doing.

Work in the garden that day was muddy and hard, but Sarah enjoyed the labour, in a strange way. She’d never been very interested in this kind of thing, she’d always preferred to stay indoors and read. Her father had been an avid weekend gardener, when he’d had the time, but she’d never responded to his calls to come out and “get her hands in the earth”. When it became the only thing she could do to survive, she treated it as a job, a chore. But as she had come to realize that she had a natural touch for it, she began to enjoy the feeling of ‘creating’ something. Now she found it a very satisfying experience. 

Sometimes she thought about the person she had been before she came back to the Underground. She had always been outspoken and opinionated. Now she became more introverted, forced to keep more to herself than before. She had always enjoyed a great deal of freedom, and been used to doing whatever she had wanted. Now her movements had to be more restricted, and she had to control herself more. She was learning discipline as well. Neatness had never been her forte, but now she enjoyed creating order out of chaos. 

Inside she still had the same spirit, the same heart, but the difficulty she’d had simply staying alive had taught her to grow up fast and matured her. She did not see it in herself, but if her parents had seen her at this point, they wouldn’t have recognized her as the same Sarah, fanciful and flighty.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Darkness had fallen, and Sarah was lost. Usually she visited the bathhouse once a week to supplement washing herself from a bucket in her shack, but today she needed to get a day’s worth of mud off and as usual, she had waited until a later hour to avoid having to interact with others. As a result, by the time she was finished and heading back, portions of the halls had been darkened, torches extinguished for the night. A wrong turn, and now she found herself in a part of the castle she’d never been in before. The hallway she’d been wandering down had no windows, and she had been up and down so many stairs that she could not even tell if she was in the basement or the tower.

She fumbled her way through what she hoped was an archway that led into more familiar territory. Her toe met sharply with a heavy wooden door, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from yelling in pain. She grabbed onto her foot and hopped on one spot for a moment, waiting for the agony to subside. When she felt it lessening, she let it go, testing her weight on it gingerly. Nothing seemed to be broken, but she knew she’d have a large bruise by tomorrow. 

Using her hands to feel around her surroundings, she soon discovered that what she had thought to be an open archway was in fact a deep stone recess, containing a very heavy and hard door. She ran her hands over the wood until she found the door handle set into the center of the door. She could feel its ornate carving under her fingertips, and when her first timid attempts to turn it failed, she tried harder. No matter how much she tried, it wouldn’t budge.

Suddenly something in her snapped. She was tired, lost, and now sore, and she wanted out. She felt a wave of something strange sweep through her, like the sensation in the air just before a bolt of lightning is about to hit nearby. There was no way she could miss seeing the bright light that shone from her fingertips, a white spark that flowed through her hands into the door handle, lighting up the alcove as it did.. Sarah gasped and jumped back as though she had been burned, and stumbled on the hem of her skirt, falling backwards. She landed hard on the cold floor, winding herself, and could not move for a moment as she caught her breath.

She was sure that at any moment one of the very capable looking black-clad Faeran guards that watched over the castle would come marching down the hall and carry her away to an oubliette somewhere. As the moments passed and she could hear only her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, not the march of heavy boots on stone, she began to breathe slower. Slowly she stood, feeling yet another ache in the tail of her spine where she had landed – that would be two bruises, then. The flash of light had left an impression on the back of her eyes, and now she could see green dots everywhere she looked. 

She reached out to the door once again, and to her surprise, it moved easily under her touch, swinging open without even a creak of the hinges. She was happy to see that in this room, at least, there were windows, wide and without drapes. The moon was beginning to wax, and cast its silver light in to pool on the floor. Sarah looked about her and saw that the room was quite large, with little furniture. As she stepped through the door, it swung shut behind her with a click. Fighting down her nervousness, she walked further into the room.

As her eyes adjusted to the faint light, she discerned a large wooden desk in the center of the room. A small table and four chairs stood to her left, and a single armchair to the right. The walls were covered almost entirely with large bookcases, reaching from floor to ceiling. Directly in her line of sight, set in the back wall, was an open archway. Sarah could just see the beginning of a staircase leading further upwards. Above that was hanging a portrait. Sarah peered through the gloom to try and see who it was.

Pale hair, high cheekbones, mismatched eyes, proud, arching eyebrows, sensual mouth... it was a painting of Jareth, seated on a plain wooden chair, dressed simply in a pair of breeches, high leather boots, a waistcoat, and a white shirt open at the neck. He was sitting casually, his eyes seeming to look straight back at those who were observing him. Sarah’s heart lurched in her chest, and she had to look away for a moment. It was the closest she had been to seeing him for a long time, and even his painted likeness took her breath away. 

When she had gained control, she looked at it again. In the silver light, she could not distinguish many colours in the painting, but she could see the resemblance was as close to life as a portrait could be. She lost herself gazing at it for a while, but came back to reality after a few moments when she realized that this, in fact, must be part of Jareth’s chambers. Tearing her gaze from his commanding stare, she looked around once more. In the spaces left between bookshelves hung other portraits. 

She did not recognize any of them, except for one with three people, two adults and a teenager. The teenage girl was tall and slender, and her dark hair bound back in a ponytail fell over one shoulder. Sarah realized that this must have been Gwyneth when she was younger; the dark eyes looked the same as they did now. The faces of the two adults were in deep shadow, and Sarah could not make out their features.

Another one, immediately to the left of Jareth’s, also caught her attention. A woman seated with a man standing behind her, one hand on her shoulder. The man had pale hair, long and brushed back neatly into a club. His aquiline nose and high cheekbones, as well as the long fingers visible on the woman’s shoulder marked him as Jareth’s father. The dark haired woman seated before him had unusual, mismatched eyes, and an attractive mouth that was slightly tilted, as though she was enjoying a joke at everyone else’s expense. They were both dressed simply and elegantly, the woman in a finely cut dress of some pale cloth, and the man in a tailored jacket and breeches. Sarah wondered if they were still alive.

She walked to the desk in the center of the room, and ran her fingers over the smooth wood. She knew she should not still be in this room, but it was impossible to pull herself away. He had been in this room, worked and lived in it. He had sat at this desk, perhaps read, or written documents. She saw on the surface of the desk an inkwell and quill, and a large, black book. It was bound with leather and embossed with silver, which shone in the moonlight. Her hand seemed to creep towards it of its own accord, and she lifted open the heavy cover and looked at the first page. 

It was a list of names and dates. The first column held a single name, and a date, and the second held a series of names, all with the same surname. The third was full of other notes. Sarah leaned forward tried to make out the words written there. 

“Single mother, unable to care for child. Chose not to run Labyrinth. Child settling well into new family.” And then, a date from some months later, “No longer needs visiting – nightmares gone.” Sarah was confused for a moment. She had never quite established in her mind what it was that Jareth actually did with the children that he took. She knew that he did not turn them into goblins, but she had not thought that maybe he actually placed them into new families and, apparently, visited them until they were settled. And she had never really thought that lots of children would be wished away who, in reality, weren’t cared for or were unable to be cared for by their parents. Just because she had been a spoilt kid wishing her brother away in a fit of frustration did not mean that every one did.

Her cheeks burned in shame as she remembered the way she had acted, and what she had done. She had been such a child herself. Flipping through the heavy vellum pages, she turned to the most recent entry in the book. She was a little shocked to read her brother’s name there. But there was no family listed next to Toby Williams, no notes on how he was doing, only a thick black slash through the name. She leafed through some of the other pages. It was the only one crossed out, and there were no other names after his. 

Hurriedly she slammed the book shut, wincing as the dull sound echoed throughout the room. She stepped away from the desk and turned around. The archway stood in front of her. She felt a burning curiosity to know what lay at the top of those stairs, and before she could stop herself she was walking towards the entrance. She paused and took a breath, then walked quickly through the doorway. As she passed underneath it, a thin veil of green fire suddenly appeared, passing over her skin like a shower of cool rain. For the second time that night Sarah gasped in shock, and stumbled forwards, her shins hitting the bottom stairs. More bruises. She crumpled to her knees, clutching her legs with both hands, eyes watering, and waited for something to happen. She did not know what she had just passed through, but it had to be magic of some kind. 

After she sat on the cold stone floor for what seemed like an eternity, and nobody came charging through the doors to arrest her, she slowly got to her feet. Looking up the spiral staircase, she saw a faint glow of moonlight from above showing the path. She took a deep breath and started to climb.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn more of the mysterious Lady.

Caoilainn the Fair was known by many to be as righteous as she was beautiful; at least, that was how she was perceived by the majority of humans and goblins. By most of her fellow Fae she was seen as a little eccentric. She was a magnificent beauty of her people, tall and slender, with large green eyes and hair of gold shot through with the fiery red of the sunset. Her mouth was generous and crimson and her skin pale as milk. She held an unusual interest in humans, and enjoyed interfering with them and their lives – and for this, she was viewed by those of her own kind as being rather odd. 

The significant amounts of power, both magical and political, that she commanded, meant there were few who would speak of their feelings about her “hobby” to her face. Her father held a high position in the Court and had for centuries. She herself had a large holding of land in the favored west, its fertile soil abounding with golden grain, abundant fruit trees, and extensive vineyards. Although a large percent of the time she left the running of the estate to her trusted advisors, it was not because she lacked the intelligence or wisdom to run it herself. The warmer months of the year were spent in the Court of the Ard Righ, and the later part of Autumn in riding through the land, visiting the various villages and fiefs scattered throughout. 

She was well aware of exactly what was said about her and her ways, and did not particularly care - another reason she was thought to be odd. 

Caoilainn sat with many other Courtiers at a long banqueting table, one of many in the Great Hall, which had been laden with course after course of exotic, delectable foods. From an unseen source came soft strains of music playing gently, the notes weaving in and out of the revelers like silken threads. Those Fair Folk who held no lands or power of their own were called upon to serve those who did, carrying out huge platters laden with food, and leaving with empty plates stacked high. They poured out the wine, a light, golden brew, tasting of crushed green apples and mint, and replaced fingerbowls floating with orange blossoms in the center of the table.

Dessert was being served, delicate sculptures made of spun sugar – a white swan, neck arching, a mighty eagle, a rose, a stag, a lily, dragonflies, wasps or butterflies – all crushed and eaten with tiny silver forks. Rather than her dessert, Caoilainn was digesting a much more interesting morsel. A rumor had reached her ears that there was a human, a child, to be specific, somewhere in the Summer Palace. It had been seen, the gossip ran, with none other than her erstwhile companion, Jareth. While the fact that he often chose the company of humans was no surprise to her, even she had been a little shocked to hear that he would dare bring one of his rescued children to Court. She hid a tiny smile. Apparently Jareth had been spied taking the child on the back of his horse to the King’s forest, and then later on to the Mount of Dragons – all without the presence of his warrior guards, and even without his advisor, who normally never left his side.

When they had been lovers, long ago in their youth, Caoilainn had spent extended periods of time at his castle. It was there she developed her fascination with humans. The lady found their brief life spans and their continuously changing, deeply felt moods and emotions to be intriguing. During her visits to Jareth’s castle she had enjoyed nothing more than disguising herself as a human drudge or a wizened old Goblin woman and wandering the city. She had meted out her own form of judgment to many, often for petty crimes such as striking an animal in anger or selling poor quality goods, and sometimes for more serious moral offenses. After she and Jareth had ended their liaison, she had continued to visit his kingdom from time to time. She had gained the reputation amongst the common folk as a beautiful and wise judge, who would mysteriously appear when most needed. Caoilainn had done nothing to dissuade the image, and rather enjoyed the unique position it afforded her. 

But now it sounded as though Jareth had finally crossed the line, and she wondered what might have driven him to do such a thing. He had not been himself for a number of years. For all intents and purposes, and to others who did not know him well, he was as courteous and amusing as ever, but he always seemed to be holding himself at a distance, or somehow distracted with his thoughts. Caoilainn had heard a while back that a tremendous amount of damage and destruction had been wrought to his castle and kingdom, although none could actually clarify what had happened, or the source of the destruction. Gossip and speculation had flown about the Court for many months. She had not seen him at all during that time, and when she had, he appeared weary, thin, and with a haunted look in his eyes. Many times she had wanted to ask, but he left no way for her to bring the subject into their conversation. So she had held herself back, respecting this.

She cast her eyes about the room, and finally the found the pale figure of her former lover. He was dressed impeccably as always, the high collared starched shirt elegant under an asymmetrical, tailored jacket of the finest black velvet. His breeches and gloves were both a muted grey, and the dark brown boots that came to just below his knee were soft calfskin. He had always had a certain flair about him, a manner that attracted many to his side. She had watched him walk through the city on foot, with a trail of goblins that followed him everywhere he went, chattering, cavorting, calling and generally causing chaos. The human children he carried away all grew fond of him in the thirteen hours they spent together, and even when they had been placed in homes with new parents, would wave, call out, or run to him when he was in sight. She knew it was an aspect of himself that not many were aware of.

Tonight he was speaking courteously to those around him, occasional flashes of his malicious humour breaking through, making them laugh at his wit. All seemed just as it should be. Caoilainn waited until a break in the conversation and caught his eye just as he was having his glass refilled. She raised one eyebrow enquiringly, and with a nod of her head indicated the huge oak doors standing half open at the far end of the hall. He lifted his glass to her with a half smile and nodded imperceptibly. The exchange was brief, lasting only a moment, and the Lady turned back to smile engagingly at the young Fae Lord sitting beside her, who was trying to regale her with tales of his bravery in the Hunt.

The conversation abound her swirled gaily, and she waited until an ebb in its flow allowed her to excuse herself politely. Caoilainn folded her linen napkin and stood, curtseying deeply to those at her table. Slowly and deliberately she wove her way around other diners towards the doors, smiling at many, offering a murmured greeting or a significant look to certain people. The High King and his consort were not in attendance this night, so she did not need to pay obeisance to the head table, set on a platform and slightly raised above the others. 

She swept the room discreetly with her eyes once more, and then slipped out of the doors and began to walk down the hallway, heading to an alcove set deeply into the wall. It was well known as a common place where lovers met for their brief trysts. She reached the spot in moments and stepped in, not surprised to find Jareth was already there, leaning against the wall. His eyes glittered in the darkness, and she caught a flash of his sharp white teeth, grinning at her.

“Well met, Lady. It has certainly been a while since we encountered each other under these circumstances.” His voice practically purred and she smiled in reply. 

“Indeed, old friend, it certainly has.” She looked him over appreciatively. “You are looking well.” As handsome as ever, a voice in her head whispered. It was tinged with a little regret; they had parted ways amiably, but there had been times when she had missed his... company. This however, was not the time for reminiscing.

“I think you know why I called you out here, Jareth.” She made herself look only into his eyes.

“Not simply for the pleasure of my company?” There was laughter in his voice and he affected a pout, imitating the flirtatious gestures employed by many ladies of the court. She could not help but to chuckle a little. He had always been able to make her laugh. Jareth’s expression suddenly turned serious.

“No doubt you’ve heard the gossip flying about the Hall tonight?” 

She nodded. “I was unfortunate enough to be seated next to Einin for most of the evening. I could more than likely tell you the color of the High King’s undergarments tonight.” He lifted an eyebrow. Einin was a fluttery, useless busybody, well known as the most flaming gossip monger to grace the Faeran Court in decades. She was the youngest child after her two brothers, unmarried, not exceptionally beautiful (even by Faeran standards) and held very little political power and no land of her own by inheritance. Her magics were no more than petty glamours, conjuring flowers and butterflies. The Fae all loved intrigue, mystery and secrets, so she made herself useful to many by collecting and distributing the juiciest scandal that she could.

“Jareth, is it true?” she expected him to deny it or attempt to distract her from the truth, but surprisingly he simply nodded. “But _why_? It may cause you to lose favour or standing in Court. This is not a risk you would have taken before.”

He shrugged, looking disinterested. “Consider it a personal matter. Do not worry - Court is nearly at an end for the summer, and soon I will be returning to my insignificant backwater, out of everyone’s way.” She heard a touch of bitterness in his words, although his expression stayed neutral. This was not the Jareth she had come to know. He had always been filled with wicked humour, supremely confident in himself and proud of his kingdom. It was not like him to be self deprecating or likely to make rash decisions. Caoilainn reached out to touch his face with one hand.

Before she could blink, he had grabbed both her wrists and spun her around, slamming her into the wall and pinning her arms above her head. He pressed his lean body flush against her and leaned down, his long fingers gripping her tightly. She felt his breath warm on her ear as he said in a very dangerous voice, “I don’t want your _pity_. Never look at me like that again.” 

After the initial shock of the impact Caoilainn felt herself reacting to his physical presence. She began to subconsciously gather her power, feeling it flow through and strengthen her. If there was no magic involved, Jareth would be able to overpower her easily, but her strength was greater in that area than his. Jareth felt it begin to push against him and he grinned, the old feral gleam in his eyes. Caoilainn felt some satisfaction as he was forced to let go of her hands, and grinned back at him. 

This was what had been kept them together for so long – the animal chemistry they both felt, the power play between them. She primly brushed her skirts back into order and patted her hair, pretending that her cheeks were not flushed and her eyes were not darkened with desire for him. Jareth leaned against the wall beside her and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“It is a matter of principle. A request was made and I chose to honor it.”

“Even so, you have always left those matters outside the Court until now.” Many times before he had to leave in a hurry to tend to those responsibilities and none debated it. It was just the way he did things, and certainly no one else wanted to take over the duty of spiriting away human children.

“Consider this the one exception. I certainly have no intention of letting the Ard Righ get his hands on the child, nor any of the circling vultures.” He looked at her meaningfully, “I trust that I do not have to request your discretion in this matter.”

She shook her head. “You know me better than that. I am one of the few here who has no desire to see you torn to pieces. You are fortunate the Righ himself was not at dinner tonight. He would not have missed hearing rumors of the child.”

“I was aware of that risk when I brought him here. As I said before, we shall be gone from here in a matter of days.”

“He may still be aware of it. His informants are cunningly hidden and keep him well-versed on all gossip, idle or not.” Jareth did not respond.

“Jareth,” she was careful to keep her tone neutral, “I am your friend. And there are others that consider themselves to be, also. Those who would be willing to assist you...” Her eyes slid sideways and she watched his proud face, high cheekbones shadowed in the half light. She saw a muscle tighten in his jaw.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment and opened his mouth to speak when a polite cough sounded from the hallway.

“Sire, it’s the... child.” Cuinn was standing outside the alcove, silhouetted by the light. Taller even than his King, his lean figure was clothed neatly in the house colours of the Goblin Kingdom. He hesitated for a moment when he saw the Lady, and bowed deeply. “My Lady Caoilainn, it is a pleasure to see you again.” 

She nodded to him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cuinn. Courteous as always, I see.” Pleasantries completed, Cuinn returned to the business at hand. 

“Sire, the child...” he looked sideways at Caoilainn, and then at Jareth, who nodded slightly. “The human, he’s been asking for you. He says he can not sleep.” A look of long suffering crossed his face. Jareth carefully kept his expression blank; he had no desire to antagonize his advisor any further than he had the last few days. Cuinn had been forced to watch the child as Jareth attended to Court matters, as no other had been allowed inside his quarters. 

Cuinn had the ability to walk into a room full of warring kings and remain as calm as a still lake, at the same time managing to negotiate peace treaties between most of them. His placid nature had a tendency to spread itself to others. It was one of the reasons that Jareth valued him so much – he was the perfect foil to his sometimes impulsive and temperamental nature. But it seemed that, for the first time, a duty had been found that flustered him – child minding. 

Jareth offered an arm to the Lady. “Would you care to meet him?” She nodded, and placed her hand just above his elbow. They began to walk towards the guest wing, Cuinn following behind them discreetly. The walk was a pleasant one. The smooth, arching hallways had been carved from fine, pale sandstone, and were lit all along with wrought iron chandeliers suspended from the ceilings. Beeswax candles gave off a warm light and scented the air faintly with honey.

Jareth stopped in front of the door to his chambers and, with a wave of his hand, disabled the locking spell that was in use. It had been keyed only to himself and Cuinn. The handle glowed briefly then appeared normal, and he swung open the door. By the light of a candelabrum he saw the child, hair tousled, sitting up in the makeshift bed that had been constructed for him out of one of room’s heavy, ornate couches. 

He was nearly lost inside the white nightshirt he was wearing, its long, lace trimmed sleeves covered his hands entirely. His normally huge, blue eyes seemed to grow even larger as he saw who had come into the room behind Jareth. Having never seen one of the Faeran ladies at close range, he was as in awe of her as he had been of Jareth when the King had first visited him. She smiled at the child and his face flushed deeply.

“Toby, this is the Lady Caoilainn. Why don’t you greet her properly?” Toby’s eyes did not lessen in size, but he climbed out of his bed and shuffled shyly towards the Lady. She stifled a smile. His garment was so long that he barely avoided tripping over as he walked. When he reached her, he looked once to Jareth, who nodded slightly. Toby held out one hand like a courtier. Caoilainn extended hers and he took it, bowing over it clumsily, standing on the hem of his shirt as he did so and nearly falling over. She pretended not to notice, and instead returned a curtsey to him.

“Well met, child.” She turned aside. “Jareth, I see you have wasted no time in teaching him manners.”

“He is in the Court of a High King, after all. It made sense to do so.” She could see barely suppressed humour in his eyes. 

“You’re very beautiful.” The boy spoke for the first time, his voice hardly above a whisper. The Lady laughed, and his face went even redder. “You’re even prettier than my sister.” Caoilainn was not looking at Jareth as Toby spoke, and she did not see the odd expression that flashed across his face. 

She smiled and said graciously, “I don’t know your sister, Toby, but I do not know if she would like the comparison. I am sure she’s pretty too.” Toby was beyond words by this point. The Lady’s smile was overwhelming and her beautiful voice rang like a bell. All he could do was look at his feet. 

Suddenly, Jareth jumped as though he had been stung. Caoilainn and Cuinn both looked at him with surprise – it was not like him to react in such ways. He looked around the room for a moment, his face tense.

“Sire, what is it?” Cuinn was instantly alert to the change of mood in his Liege. Jareth held up a hand for silence, as though he was listening for something that was not there. With a flick of his wrist a crystal ball appeared in his hand and glowed brightly.

“Gwyneth!” He spoke his cousin’s name sharply.

In her bedroom in the castle of the Goblin King, Gwyneth woke with a start to see a glass bubble hanging in the air above her face, Jareth’s face reflected in it.

“Cousin,” she was about to grumble at him for waking her, but at the look on his face she sat up hurriedly. “What is it?”

“Someone just disturbed the seal around my chambers. It was not broken – they just walked straight through it.” A look of confusion crossed Gwyneth’s face.

“But that’s impossible. That seal is coded to respond directly to your magic only. It is not possible to break – you told me that yourself!”

He spoke through gritted teeth. “Of that I am aware. Obviously it must be someone with a great amount of power. Perhaps one of my enemies, although I had thought they were all present at dinner tonight.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and placed gloved fingers on his forehead. “I want you to gather my guard and go there immediately. I have allowed you access; the spell won’t block you. Find out who it is and stop them!” The bubble snapped out of existence.

Gwyneth was already robed, out the door and walking quickly down the hallway towards the tower rooms, at the same time triggering the alarm spells that would summon the armed guards to Jareth’s chambers. She lit her way with a globe of shining light that hung just above her palm. She arrived at Jareth’s door just as half a dozen guards did. Silently she signalled to the foremost, a dark skinned human man named Lorcan, who had served them faithfully for years, to open the door. He did so, his sword drawn, and they entered the outer chamber. 

There was no one inside, so Gwyneth pointed to the archway that led to her cousin’s private chamber. Lorcan nodded and without a word and barely a footfall, they moved quickly up the spiral staircase. Gwyneth stepped into the room behind them in time to see the young human girl, Una, kneeling on the floor. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and staring up at the guards who had their swords drawn and pointed at her throat.

“Una!” Although she struggled not to show it, the lady was stunned. The girl turned her head to look pleadingly at the Lady and she could see fear in her eyes. She looked just as confused as Gwyneth felt.

“I didn’t mean to... I was lost...”

“Impossible...” Gwyneth muttered under her breath. To the guards, she said, “Take her to the holding cell. I’ll be down there to deal with her shortly.” The head of the guards nodded, hauling the girl to her feet and half carrying her back down the stairs. She did not make a sound, her mouth kept opening and closing, but no more words came out. 

As soon as they had left the room, Gwyneth sagged against the wall for a moment. How was this possible? She collected herself, took a deep breath, and Spoke her cousin’s name. In a moment, another clear orb appeared before her face. She could see Jareth’s face was tense, and she did not blame him.

“It was a human, a girl who has been working with me for the last few months.”

“A human?” his voice hissed, “Are you certain?”

“I cast a spell which would have broken any glamours placed over her when I first met her. There was nothing.”

“Impossible.” 

Gwyneth laughed dryly. “Apparently not. We have apprehended the girl and I have ordered her to be held. I will go down now and question her.” Jareth nodded.

“One more question – what is the girl’s name?”

“She has given it as Una.” Gwyneth did not miss the lack of recognition on her cousin’s face.

“Very well. I believe I will return earlier than I planned. Look for me tomorrow.”

“I shall.” The connection broke.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Caoilainn watched the entire exchange, burning with curiosity, but holding herself back from speech. A human, broken through a magical seal set by Jareth himself! Even Toby sensed something important was going on, and sat back down on his couch bed, quietly. Once he had closed the connection for a second time, Jareth paced the room restlessly. Suddenly, he seemed to remember where he was and turned to Cuinn.

“I will be returning to the castle tonight. I will make my excuses to the Ard Righ and, as soon as you are able, you must follow me on horseback.” As he spoke, he moved to the desk in the corner and pulled out a sheet of paper, dipping a large feather quill into a stone inkpot and beginning to write in his elaborate, flowing script. He finished writing and shook sand from a silver sandshaker over it, blowing away the excess. Taking a candle, he dripped it onto the bottom of the page, pressing the gold ring he always wore on his left hand into the soft wax. He stood and handed the document to Cuinn.

“I’ll see it reaches him, Sire.”

Suddenly a little voice piped up from the couch, “Where are you going?” Jareth spun around and looked at Toby. For a moment, he had forgotten the boy’s presence. The Lady was standing next to him, curiosity in her eyes. 

“Toby, I am sorry to cut this short, but you’ll have to go back earlier than I promised.” 

Toby looked devastated. “But...” 

Jareth held up a hand to stop his protest. “It is not a matter I want you involved in, and you can not travel back to my castle with me. I’ll be taking a... different method of transportation. You would only slow down my guards.”

Caoilainn kept her face as neutral as she could, but she was very surprised at his words. Go back? So this child had not been wished away; he had been brought here willingly by Jareth. She had never heard of him doing such a thing before. The situation was becoming more and more interesting.

“I will take him.” Jareth looked at her in surprise. “I can travel with him and give him the protection he needs. Besides, I haven’t paid a visit to your domain in a while.” Jareth looked thoughtful, considering the option. The Lady certainly had magic enough to hide the child, and he could not really see a reason to object to the arrangement. He was certain he could have this business resolved before they returned to his castle. And in any case, he would have liked the boy to see his kingdom again. 

“Well then, I will expect you in a few days.” She nodded. Without any further words, he leapt into the air and, with a shockwave that was felt throughout the room, transformed into the form of a huge owl. With a screech he flew out of the open window, heading east towards his kingdom.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Is Not Your Average Jail Cell Fan Trope

Sarah ached all over. The guards had been none too gentle, and the cold from the stone floor she was sitting on seemed to creep into her bones. The places where she had injured herself throbbed, adding to the general discomfort. More than anything, she felt terror. She did not know what was going to happen to her, and did not entirely understand what was going on. She had known that she should not have been in that room, but surely a simple wrong turn could not have caused her to be arrested.

She had entered the room at the top of the stairs and realized quickly that it must be Jareth’s bedchamber. A wide, low bed covered in fine, pale linen sat underneath a large arched window opposite the door and a small table with two chairs to the right. A large wooden cupboard stood on the left. Hanging down from the center of the domed ceiling was a large lantern with opaque glass sides. The circular room was simple, airy, and felt peaceful. It was nothing like she expected. She had simply stood in the center of the room, drinking it in.

She had still been standing there moments later when the faint sound of footfalls on the stone stairway broke into her thoughts. Before she could turn and run away, or find somewhere to hide, the guards had come rushing into the room and encircled her. Their swords were drawn and pointed at her as though she were dangerous, as though she could hurt them. Then, to her surprise Gwyneth had followed closely after. Sarah had wanted to explain herself, but found she was unable to put a coherent sentence together. Before she could collect her thoughts, she had been roughly grabbed and taken down the stairs, but not before she had seen a flash of what looked like confusion and disappointment on the lady’s face.

Sarah drew her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them. She was tired and confused and felt sick to her stomach. Why had she remained in the rooms after she had realized whose they were? 

“Stupid. Stupid!” she muttered to herself. She had been so in awe of the fact that she was in the same place that he had been, that her sense of danger had been ignored. Now it was very likely her life was in peril. At least he was not here in the castle. She knew that the moment he walked in the door, it would all be over.

After what seemed like hours, Sarah heard the sound of bolts being drawn and someone entering the room. It was the lady, carrying a lantern, which she hung from a chain dangling down from the ceiling. She stood between Sarah and the lantern, and her face was in shadow. Sarah had to resist the urge to scoot backwards and hide in the dimness. Instead, she mustered some of her old spirit and lifted her chin, giving her face an odd mix of fear and defiance at the same time. At any other time it would have amused Gwyneth, but she knew she had to get past what she was sure was a false façade. It was time to get to the heart of the matter. She knelt down in front of the girl and grasped her chin with cold, strong fingers. The human could not break away from them.

“What were you doing in those rooms? How did you break the wards that were surrounding them?” As she spoke she gathered up her magic, which glowed deep blue in her inner sight, and sent it towards the mind of the girl. 

“I was lost. I didn’t mean to go in there, I was about to leave!” Sarah hated the way fear made her babble. The Lady’s grip on her chin was steady, and suddenly she felt a cool touch of something in her mind. Sarah gasped, for it felt as though someone had reached inside her skull with a cold needle. She closed her eyes instinctively and grimaced in pain.

As the girl squeezed her eyes shut, Gwyneth felt her questing magic slam into something solid. The girl had thrown up a shield in her mind, an act which normally took concentration and practice. Only those with powerful magic could accomplish it. Closing her eyes, she turned her inner eye to her magic. It flowed and broke like water upon a wall in the girl’s mind. A closer look nearly shattered her concentration. The magic was indeed Fae, as she had suspected earlier, but there was far more of it there than she had thought possible in a human. And, most extraordinarily, it was the same shade as her cousin’s. 

All magic had a signature, a look and feeling that made it identifiable to its owner. Gwyneth’s was cool, firm and midnight blue. It was something that could not be copied or recreated artificially. Somehow, the magic in this girl’s mind had the same citrus tang and leafy green as the Goblin King’s. Gwyneth opened her eyes again and stared at the girl. Just a human... It was unheard of, more, it was impossible. She knew that she could not break through the girl’s shield while she was defensive; she would have to try another tactic. Gwyneth let go of her chin and stood abruptly. Sarah opened her eyes in surprise and looked up at the lady. 

“I suggest you sleep, if you can. No doubt my cousin will want to question you later.” She took down the lantern and left the room quickly, the door swinging shut behind her. Sarah’s stomach dropped. She felt around until she found the rough blanket she had seen in the lantern light, and curled up in the corner, staring into the darkness.

 

Unknown to Sarah, Gwyneth was seated on a low stool just outside the cell door. In spite of the amount of power she had sensed, she also suspected that the girl had very little conscious control over it. The action had been more of an inherent response to a perceived threat. She planned to wait until Sarah was asleep and her guard let down before she tried again. While she sat, waiting, she cast her mind back to the History of the Labyrinth that she knew, and tried to recall any incidents in which power had been transferred from one person to another, imitated, or stolen. 

For many centuries, Jareth’s family had ruled over this particular kingdom; since the time of his father’s father. His grandfather had forged a bond with the land, binding it to himself with his own blood and pouring his magic into it, and receiving in return a connection that allowed him to shape and be shaped by the land itself. He was the one who had constructed the Labyrinth and, when his son was born, the blood tie that had been formed was passed down, and so on. The power to control the land was one that could easily have been misused. Many sought over time to try and wrest the power from those who carried it, seeing the unique bond with the land as an opportunity to do harm rather than good. In times of unrest, however, the land itself would often rise up and defend those who were tied to it by blood. As a consequence of the connection, those who were united with the land would also be able to feel its pain. This ensured that the monarch would do everything possible to keep peace and harmony.

Jareth’s grandfather, whose name was Padraic, had brought order with a firm hand to what had been a land full of chaos. He was the first one to make it a productive and useful realm, and it was on him that the geas had first been placed. He had been charged with the retrieval of all human children wished away to the goblins, and for that matter, to the fairies (who were technically incapable of taking away much of anything), and the Elves (which fell under the banner of Faeran anyway) or any other being of magic, imagined or real, to whom humans might wish away their offspring. In the millennia past, he had even taken responsibility for those children who were left exposed to the elements, on hillsides, to die. The Fair Folk found it difficult to come by progeny, and valued all offspring. More than one Fae child had been born to a human mother, although the fact was not very widely revealed. 

Humans lived and died in the Underground. New families were made to replace those ones that had given them up. There were people from all nations and races. The majority of cultures, it seemed, had some sort of parallel legend about goblins or some kind of supernatural creature taking their children away. Most parents used it as a threat when children were misbehaving, as the warning was universally recognized. 

Gwyneth sat quietly, pondering. There was no incident that she could bring to mind that could give any explanation for what she had sensed in the human girl. She would have to investigate further. Taking a slow breath, Gwyneth gathered her magic and gently sent it towards the mind of the girl. She was asleep fitfully, her mind full of half formed images and thoughts. Gwyneth waited for a moment, and then began to move down the twisted paths of the girl’s consciousness. 

Images flashed past her. A dark haired baby girl, laughing in the arms of her parents, taking her first wobbling steps, held up on either side by mother and father. Experiencing new things for the first time, new tastes, smells and sensations. Waving to her parents as she walked away from them with a heavy bag over one shoulder, into a place full of other children. And a little older, clinging to her mother, sobbing. Then there was only the two of them, the girl and her father. 

For a while the scenes of everyday life streamed past. The girl was more sober now, smiled less, and tended to turn her thoughts inwards. She spent time dreaming and imagining what she wanted reality to be, so she would not have to deal with what it really was. She began to grow into womanhood, looking more like her mother every day. Then they were joined by another; a woman, standing with the girl’s father, and the girl holding herself back from them. Then yet another appeared, a tiny baby, smiling and giggling, just as the girl had once been, held in the arms of the woman. She felt the girl’s jealousy, resentment and loneliness. 

The next image that formed came as a surprise. Her cousin was standing in front of the girl dressed in his full Court regalia with an empty crib behind them. That could only mean one thing. She had wished away her sibling to the Court of the Goblin King. Gwyneth strengthened the link and dived deeper. 

Now she felt the girl’s panic and distress as she ran through the Labyrinth, time ticking away. She saw her cousin appear to taunt the girl, and she saw the friends the girl fabricated for herself to help her through certain trials. Jareth threatened her, tried to distract her, and tried to seduce her. Nothing deterred the girl as she strove blindly on, her force of will matching his own. Then, she saw something she had never seen before. Jareth, pale and worn, was reaching out his hand to the girl, beseeching her. There was a look in his eyes that she could not quite describe. Gwyneth recognized it now. It was the look she’d seen when she first asked him about who had nearly destroyed him. Then she saw the girl refuse whatever he had been offering, and the magical destruction that followed. 

Gwyneth snapped herself sharply out of her trance and stood, nearly knocking her stool over. This was the one who had defeated the Labyrinth, causing such destruction to it and the kingdom! Jareth had never told her who it was that had defeated him, and she had not pressed him for an answer. All he would say was that they were safely back in the world Above, and could not do any more harm. How had she come to be here? Jareth could not possibly know of her presence.

She could feel the beginnings of a headache building behind her left eye. The searching had taken many hours, and looking around, she now saw the pale light of dawn filtering in through the tall, thin windows lining the corridor. She felt stiff and sore as she leaned down to pull the stool towards her, sitting on it once more. With a thought, she strengthened the locks that bound the door shut, adding more specific magical wards to keep the girl inside, no matter what. She did not intend to move from this spot until her cousin arrived home. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jareth watched the sun climbing up over the edge of the world, staining the pale sky with faint colour, his wings aching after a night of hard flight. The morning air was tranquil and cool. He could feel the very slight shifts in the currents around him as he alternately beat his wings and coasted to conserve energy. He tried to empty his mind of all thoughts that might distract him, focusing instead on the land beneath him. Few had ever seen it at his perspective and thus few could ever admire its strange beauty as he could. 

He could see lakes, forests, and farmlands pass beneath him. Here a mountain range, tall uppermost peaks still covered with old snow, there a rushing river that had carved out a deep, snaking gorge, sparkling faintly like a silver ribbon as the first rays of dawn broke forth. He felt the land’s deep pull within him, the bond that was like a cord of gold wrapped around his heart. He felt that heart swell with love and pride, and wheeled around once or twice in pure delight. 

It was rare that he allowed himself moments of abandon like these. He had a feeling that, after the events of the day ahead of him, he would need to remember how he felt this morning. Now he could see the spires of his castle on the horizon now, the twisting Labyrinth that wound around it and protected it, like a dragon curled protectively around its hoard. As he drew closer and flew lower, his sharp eyes could make out the inhabitants beginning to stir and go about their business. 

Suddenly he was there, the castle looming up before him, towers of stone beginning to glow pink and gold in the dawn light. He could see horses being led out of the stables, carts full of goods being driven up to the gates, and men and women scurrying through the courtyard. The fountain in the middle of the square was his chosen landing place, and he descended with a great screech and clouds of dust blown by the back draft of flapping wings. As his claws touched the stone ledge he transformed quickly back into his natural form, his sudden appearance causing the horses nearby to squeal and try to bolt away. Hostlers and stable boys hung onto the reins with both hands, trying to soothe the panicked beasts. He usually chose to arrive through the wide windows in his own rooms, but his destination today was different.

Jareth stepped off the edge of the fountain and strode by them all; focused on reaching the main doors with long, ground eating strides. A flick of his hand sent them swinging open and he walked through without pausing, human and goblin servants scattering at his approach. He ignored them all, instead heading for the wing which held the prison cells. As he came to the heavy, barred door leading to the first passageway, he saw one of his captains, Lorcan, standing guard. At the appearance of his King he snapped to attention and bowed. Jareth nodded in acknowledgement and allowed the man to unlock the door for him. 

“The Lady Gwyneth is with her.” Lorcan indicated with a hand down the hallway. Jareth turned and walked down without a word, his boots beating a sharp tattoo that echoed off the stone walls. He turned a corner and saw his cousin sitting on a low wooden stool, outside a locked door. With his Sight he could see that several very strong locking spells had been placed on the door and he wondered at the magical strength of the person locked inside. Gwyneth had turned to look at him when he rounded the corner, and although she smiled faintly at the sight of him, he could see weariness in her eyes. 

“Cousin, I am certainly glad to see you.” She rose and bowed her head to him briefly, holding out her hands. He took them both in his own and squeezed them, before leaning forward to brush one of her cheeks with his own.

“Go and rest, I will take over now. You look ready to drop with weariness.” Gwyneth smiled genuinely at his words.

“Clearly you have not looked in a mirror yet. Flying all night never did agree with you.” She turned towards the door and began to release the many wards and locks. With a hand on the door knob she turned to him, eyes serious.

“Jareth, if you do not want to deal with her, I will.” He looked puzzled for a moment at her statement, but nodded. She sighed once and turned the doorknob. Sunlight now streamed in through the high, barred window, and fell upon the figure curled up in a blanket in the corner. As the human girl turned to look at who had entered the room, Jareth felt the blood slowing in his veins. Dark hair framed large, green eyes, which were growing even wider at the sight of the King. A face so familiar to him, one he had once yearned for and dreaded. Her mouth was open in shock, and he felt his opening of its own accord to utter her name.

“Sarah...”

At the sound of his own voice, Jareth turned suddenly and walked out of the room, Gwyneth following quickly behind him. The door swung shut with a thud and all he could do was simply stand there, in the hallway, staring at the wall opposite him.

“I am sorry, cousin, I should have given you some kind of warning.”

He turned to her. “You knew?” his voice was a whisper. She nodded.

“Last night I broke through her magical shields, and discovered... well, I guessed who she really was. I did not know how to tell you...” it was very unusual for Gwyneth to look or sound uncertain of herself, but at this time, she was both. Jareth turned his attention back to the stone wall opposite him, as though he was seeking answers from its smooth surface. His face looked emotionless on the outside, but inside his mind was a roiling mess of emotions and thoughts.

Her! She was here! Right in his own dungeon, looking at him with those devastating eyes that he had thought he was rid of forever. He felt a mix of shock, anger, hate, confusion, and strangest of all, relief. Why? She was supposed to be safely out of the way in the world Above, living out her life as the spoiled child she had been well on her way to becoming. 

Not here, in his domain, and without him knowing! How could she have possibly gotten here? It was impossible... but then until last night, he had thought it impossible for someone to break through a shield that was configured only to his particular magic. Apparently this day was destined to be a learning experience. He rubbed his gloved hands over his face once, and then turned to face Gwyneth.

“I shall deal with her.” She nodded and opened the door once again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sarah had stopped breathing. Her lungs had ceased to function the moment she turned and saw him walk through the door. Lit by the morning sun, he was as beautiful as she remembered and his mere physical presence had literally taken her breath away. Dressed as simply as he had been in his portrait, she had watched his eyes widen in shock as he grasped who she really was. And when he said her name, it was as though a current of electricity had suddenly jolted though her and was now curled up in her belly. 

Then he had turned and walked back through the door, leaving her feeling somehow bereft, as though his presence had been something vital she had been missing until the moment he walked in the room. She forced herself to suck in a breath, and shakily exhaled. Sarah had known the moment would have to come sooner or later, although she had yearned for and dreaded it simultaneously. Some minutes passed and nothing more happened. She was wondering whether he would now leave her to rot forever in his prison, when the door opened again suddenly and he walked in. 

He stood with unreadable eyes, and simply looked at her. She felt as though she might melt under his scrutiny. She wanted to say something to him, explain herself, beg for compassion, or scream at him for trapping her here in the first place. Instead she sat in silence, mouth moving with unformed words. The silence stretched out until she thought she could not bear it any longer, and then he spoke. 

“Sarah.” Her name sounded like a blessing and a curse coming from his lips. He walked forwards into the cell, and stopped a foot or two away from her. Once again Sarah was assaulted with that overwhelming sensation of vertigo and elation, although this time it was tempered by fear born partly of exhaustion. She could do nothing to hide it, and watched as a small, wicked smile appeared on Jareth’s face. 

He stood tall over her, and she was suddenly gripped with the urge to stand, to at least look him in the eye as she had always been able to do before. She struggled to her feet, using the stone wall to support herself, and stood before him. She did not miss the glance that swept over her from head to foot, and she felt her face reddening, but stood as defiantly as she could. He reached out a hand to her face, stopping just short of touching her skin.

He spoke again, his tone pleasant, although each word sounded as though it was uttered through gritted teeth. “What brings you to my Kingdom, Sarah? Thought you might drop by for a little visit?”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Is Also Not Your Average Prison Interrogation Trope (no whips and chains involved)

Silence stretched like a silk web in the space left by Jareth’s words. Sarah’s tongue seemed to have turned to stone, and Jareth appeared to be holding himself back from unleashing a verbal assault. They stared into each other’s eyes, both experiencing a strange mix of emotions. Sarah’s mind whirled with everything she had wanted to say to him for all these years. She took a deep breath and spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to tell you I was here.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I thought you would know where I was. I thought you were watching me.” Jareth laughed once, sharply.

“Hardly. Had I known you were here, I would have had you thrown into this prison cell much sooner.” At his words Sarah’s face flushed pink, and she felt some of her old fire awaken.

“Thrown _me_ into prison? When it’s your fault I’m here in the first place?” She forced herself to keep her hands clenched at her side. “I never wanted to come back here. I was _happy_.” The last word came out in a hiss. Jareth’s eyebrows both went up and his mouth set itself in a straight line. He leaned forward.

“Again, I will ask you. What are you doing here? And how did you break through the magic that surrounded my chambers?”

Sarah had been about to snap at him, but his last remark stopped her. She looked puzzled. “Magic? I didn’t break anything. I didn’t even mean to go in there!” Jareth’s eyes darkened with anger at her words, and his gloved hands balled into fists. 

His voice rose. “It was not possible for anyone to enter that room but me. What have you done? Why did you come back here?” He almost shouted the last question, but managed to remain in control. 

“I didn’t _do_ anything!” she snapped. Now that she had an outlet, she felt all the emotions she had been suppressing for the last few years come boiling to the surface. She felt as though she might explode if she did not find some kind of outlet for them. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

Closing his eyes, Jareth forced his voice to remain calm. “Sarah, do you expect me to believe that you _somehow_ made your way back into the Underground, have been living in my palace for a number of months,” “Years.” She interrupted him. “Three and a half. In the Underground, anyway.” He opened his eyes and looked at her in irritation. Behind it, however, she could also see surprise. “Years, then.” He continued, “And while living here, not only had you gotten into the good graces of my dear cousin, but you also managed to find a way through a magical seal that until now has been considered impossible to break? Am I supposed to believe that one of my enemies hasn’t captured you and is using you to bring me down?” _You, my one weakness_?

“Yes.” Her voice was small. Jareth snorted.

“I am afraid I see that as rather improbable, _my dear_.” He had to get out of there. He needed time to get himself back under control; time to decide how to deal with her properly. Jareth started to turn towards the doorway.

“Jareth!” his name on her lips stopped him. She had never spoken it in his hearing that he could remember, and he found it an odd sensation. In times past he had wondered what it would have sounded like. Sarah was standing with one hand slightly outstretched towards him, a pleading look in her eyes.

“Little Sarah. I would ask you to not be so familiar with me.” His voice was cold. Jareth spun on his heel before she could reply and strode quickly back through the door. He had to leave before he said something he regretted. Or perhaps, before he said more that he would be sorry for.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he startled Gwyneth who was still seated outside the cell. Jareth beckoned for her to follow him, and she did so without speaking, hurriedly reactivating the locking spells. They walked together down the long hallway in silence. When they reached the main door, Lorcan, who had been watching for their return, was waiting with another armed guard. He swung it open to allow them out. Jareth stopped for a moment and spoke quietly to the captain. Lorcan bowed, looking relieved. “My thanks, your Majesty.” He nodded to the other warrior and left quickly through the door. 

Jareth headed for the stairs leading to his quarters, and when the door to them was reached, opened it with a wave of his hand. He strode in and sat down on his favourite stuffed armchair. One long leg was flung over the wooden arm and his chin rested on his hand. Gwyneth settled herself a little more sedately in a high backed, dark timber chair. Nothing was said for several minutes, until Jareth spoke, as though to himself.

“It seems the child was right.” He was silent for a few moments more, and then turned to his cousin. “Tell me everything.”

Gwyneth nodded, and took a deep breath. “She came to the castle gates about three months ago, looking for work. Ingrid called on me, as the girl claimed to have gardening experience, and I had been looking for someone to help me for a while. You know the last goblin who tried to assist me managed to kill off half the garden before I got to him.” He nodded but did not interrupt. 

“I did not recognize her, though I was sure I had seen most of your children at least once as infants. She was not wearing any glamours or illusions that I could detect, and seemed eager to help. I let her stay, provided she could do the work adequately. Things were working well for a couple of months, and she was doing a great deal to lighten my load of work, particularly with you away at the Summer Palace. She talked very little, and never about herself. Recently I began to notice something about her - she held magic. It would show itself at odd times, with no pattern, almost as though the girl did not know she was using it. ”

“The girl has no magic. It would have shown itself when she ran the Labyrinth.”

“Well, it would seem that she does. I do not know if she simply did a good job of hiding it when she was Underground before, or if it was lying dormant and became active. She may have been entirely unaware of it. However,” she looked up at the portrait of her family for a moment, “that is not the strangest part of it all. The magic she carries is Faeran.” At her words Jareth sucked his breath in sharply. Gwyneth transferred her gaze to him. “I checked it closely, Jareth. There is no mistaking it as anything but Fae. I can think of no explanation for it – save one.”

“Well?” he spoke impatiently.

“Somehow when she was last here and defeated the Labyrinth, she must have taken on some of your power.” Jareth laughed out loud.

“I find that most unlikely, dear cousin.” When he realized Gwyneth did not seem to be jesting, he stopped laughing. Standing in one fluid movement, he began to pace. Gwyneth spoke once more. “The rest of the story you know. Now it is your turn. I need to know who she is to you.” Jareth continued to stalk up and down the room. After a few moments he stopped and turned to look at his cousin.

“Some years ago, I received a Call. It was fairly standard in many ways, save that the young girl making it was a sibling instead of a mother to the child. Nonetheless, she accepted my challenge and began to run the Labyrinth.” Jareth began to pace again. He cleared his throat as though uncomfortable. “No. You need to know it all.” One hand rested on his forehead, which was creased as though what he was about to say pained him. “I knew who she was, for I had been watching her for some time in the world Above. There was something about her spirit that attracted me, called out to me. It burned so brightly, so differently to everyone around her. She still believed in magic, in fantasy, in us.”

“She - Sarah - had such strong ideas about what she wanted to believe. I was able to use the force of her own will to change what was around her, to let her see what she wanted. I found it fascinating to watch her. She stood up to me in a way that none had before. No matter how I tried to distract her, what I threw in her path, she won her way to the castle.” Jareth stopped his pacing and turned to look at Gwyneth. She returned his gaze steadily.

“I... made her an offer, Gwyneth. I offered her myself.” He spread his hands wide as if displaying himself, a strange smile on his face. “She refused, as you may have guessed. I sent her back to her world and swore never to watch her again.” Jareth’s eyes went hard. “I learned my lesson.” He sat down again. “How she came back here, I do not know. Perhaps someone else kidnapped her or coerced her into coming back. Gwyneth, you understand why I could not tell you who it was that defeated me. The girl is a liability, a weakness. If anyone else had found out who she was and what she had managed to do...” his voice trailed off.

Gwyneth nodded. The human could be used against him. Particularly if anyone discovered that he had once had feelings for the girl. There were plenty of carrion birds dressed as courtiers who would be glad to get wind of the information.

“There is more, cousin. The girl’s brother.” He sighed deeply and looked as though he was developing a headache. Not the first he’d had recently. “Several days ago I was Called by him. He told me his sister was missing, and was convinced I had her. Of course I knew nothing of the sort and denied it all. Unfortunately, it would seem that for all intents and purposes, he was right. However, not knowing this at the time, I thought it may be interesting to... do something for him.” Gwyneth groaned inside. She had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going.

“You brought him back.” 

Jareth nodded. “He is coming here under the care of Lady Caoilainn, about three days journey away. Cousin, perhaps when I say this, I am understating the point, but I do not believe the next few days are going to go very smoothly.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t believe that anything can be gained by contacting Caoilainn at this point, I will simply let them arrive at their own pace. That will at least give me some time to decide what to make of the whole mess.” 

“You aren’t planning to tell the girl that her brother is here?” Gwyneth looked at her cousin curiously. He shook his head. “Not yet. There is too much I have to learn from her first.” Suddenly an audible gurgle came from the Goblin King’s middle. “Has the girl been fed?” 

“No. And nor have either of us, I would wager.” Gwyneth stood and moved over to the small wooden table and chairs, and pulled a silken cord which was hanging from the wall. Magical communication was easier achieved when both parties actually held magic. This way was much simpler when it came to communicating with the servants. After a few moments, the door was opened and the housekeeper herself walked in. She curtseyed deeply.

“Ingrid, I need you to arrange for our breakfast to be brought here, and also a tray prepared and brought down to the holding cells.” Gwyneth imagined Ingrid would have heard long ago via castle gossip who was being held there. The woman did not say anything; she just pursed her lips and nodded once, leaving the room at a brisk pace.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When her door was finally opened again well after midday, Sarah was starting to feel more frustrated than scared. Jareth stood silhouetted in the doorway, hands on hips, in such a way that Sarah could not see his face properly. She got to her feet again, refusing to face him while on her knees. What she was unable to see was the small smile that curled his lips at her action.

Jareth could see the emotions warring for supremacy on her face. She always had been like an open book, infinitely easy for him to read. Anger struggled to overcome fear, and at the same time curiosity was showing itself. She was afraid of him, but it seemed she wanted answers as well. Interesting. He could see that her food tray had only been picked over – most of the food was left intact. 

“Not hungry, Sarah? Lost your appetite, perhaps?” He broke the silence and at the same time moved out of the doorway to stand across from Sarah. 

“If it hadn’t been delivered by Cruet himself, I might have thought it was tampered with. You were always fond of that, if I remember right.” Despite her brave words, she was still shaking, although she fought to hide it. The little cook had bustled into the cell with the tray full of food, insisting that she eat every bite, and implying that strange things might start appearing in the King’s food if any harm should come to her.

Jareth laughed out loud at her words. He found Cruet to be a rather amusing figure, albeit an excellent cook. He could well imagine the thin, twiggy goblin man taking Sarah under his wing. He had a soft spot for those who seemed downtrodden, despite being a prolific gossip. Jareth sobered quickly, however, and began to examine his gloves carefully while speaking.

“Even if it was, I am certain you would have been able to counter it. It is a simple task for those who hold magic.”

Sarah felt frustration welling in her again. There it was again – all this talk of magic. She was sure he was trying to tease her. “I’ve told you all before, I don’t have magic. Why does everyone keep asking me that?” She clenched her fists at her sides.

“Sarah, Sarah. I have ways of dealing with those who try to deceive me. Do not try my patience.” As he spoke, he peeled the grey, kidskin glove off his right hand. Slowly, he advanced towards her, bare hand outstretched. Instinctively she backed away from him until she felt the cold stone at her back. He moved deliberately, as though in no great hurry, a sly smile on his lips. It was obvious that she had nowhere to go. 

His fingers reached out and touched the base of her throat. They felt like fire and ice, and Sarah could not help but inhale sharply. The electricity nesting in her belly awoke again and twisted itself about, sending a shock through her whole body. He had never physically touched her before, only in her dreams or fantasies, and she found the sensation overwhelming. Before she knew what she was doing, her eyes had slid shut and her head fell back. Jareth saw it and seized his chance.

He gathered his magic and forced his way into her mind before she could react or defend herself. Jareth had expected to find shields and defenses, but there was nothing to stop him. In the physical realm, he felt her stiffen under his touch, but her hands still stayed by her sides. His own eyes were closed and with his magical sight he looked into her consciousness. A sea of sparkling green, the same colour and feel of his own magic, took his breath away for a moment. The same as his! Things he had previously considered to be impossible were starting to become commonplace today. Jareth gathered himself and began to look for specific memories. 

He saw those he was familiar with – Sarah running the Labyrinth, her encounters with him, her rejection. He saw her back in her own world, and what her life had been on its way to becoming. Then he saw her standing with a very familiar crystal in her hands, and watched her lips shape his name. Even he was surprised at the force of the magical explosion that followed. 

Jareth saw her through her first days in the Underground, struggling to survive, and going hungry more often than not. He watched her as she came to live with the old woman and work hard to earn food. Then he saw something that surprised him. Her watching him, much as he had once watched over her. Even after she had come to the castle and could not physically see him, she continued to watch the places where he would have been.

Jareth came soon to the most recent of her memories, and watched as she fumbled her way through his rooms, seeming to accidentally walk through the very complicated locking spells. And then he was out, his magic withdrawing from her mind. His hand remained at the base of Sarah’s throat, and he could feel her pulse racing. He opened his eyes to see hers staring back at him, shock written on her face. 

“What did you just do to me?” her voice croaked.

He seemed to ignore her question. “So, you were telling the truth. Wonders will never cease.” He let her go then, and she sagged against the wall, her hand moving to the place where he had touched her. She felt as though she had been burned, and was surprised to find that there weren’t blisters raised on her skin. Jareth calmly pulled the glove back onto his bare hand, his eyes watching her every movement. 

After a few moments he spoke. “Sarah, whether you realize it or not, you are in the possession magic. A significant amount, in fact. This does, however explain your presence here.” Sarah looked confused, and he continued. “Your magic must have served as a boost for my spell.”

“Your what?” Her voice was still weak.

“The crystal, Sarah. The one I allowed to go back with your brother, a single wish, for his use. It would seem that rather than let him have it, you took it for yourself.” Sarah looked indignant at this comment, but Jareth continued before she could speak up in her defense. “On its own it should not have had the power to send you back here, but it seems your magic enhanced it.”

“But I didn’t wish to come here!”

“Apparently, you did.” He folded his arms across his chest. Sarah opened her mouth to deny it again, and remembered the moment before her world had been shattered. She had spoken _his_ name, the name she had not allowed herself to speak in the years after she came back from the Underground. She had been wondering when her hatred of him had turned to other feelings, but perhaps nothing about them had ever changed. Perhaps she had always felt that way but had denied it even to herself. 

Sarah had always assumed that the reason she had sought after Jareth in the beginning was simply because he was the only familiar thing in this world. She had never come across any sign of the friends she had made in her last visit and, caught in an alien world, she had sought that which she knew. The spell must have taken the feelings she was not even aware of, and translated them into a wish. So it was her own fault that she had come here – not his. Sarah pressed her hands to her heated face and groaned. There was no point thinking this way now. She was here, and he was before her, and there was no shred of warmth that she could see in his eyes. 

Jareth watched realization dawn on her face, and was mildly amused to see the colour mounting in her cheeks. However, there was a more important issue that needed resolution. It was necessary to know exactly how and when she had taken on this magic that either was his or so much like his that it had even fooled him. He was certainly not feeling as though he was deficient or drained in any way. The only time he had felt that way was in the aftermath of the Labyrinth...

The Labyrinth! He had always assumed the reason he was so weakened was the destruction of his glamour and the near demolition of his kingdom. It took a large amount of time and a vast portion of his magic to return it to normal. Once the repair had been done, his magic had returned to its usual levels. He began to suspect what might have occurred, but he needed some way to confirm it. 

Jareth turned his attention back to Sarah, and noticed she was looking at him oddly. Realization must have been showing on his face. He carefully schooled his features back into the familiar half smile, eyes revealing nothing. It was time to get some answers, and this was not the place to find them. With a Word he called forth a crystal and spoke to his cousin. 

“Gwyneth, if you are rested enough, would you meet us at the gatehouse?” tossing the ball into the air where it burst, he held out his hand to Sarah.

“Sarah, how would you like to go for a little ride?”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not Happy Jareth

It was difficult to walk and concentrate on casting a spell at the same time. To accomplish it _without_ the person you were walking with knowing, was even more difficult. Particularly if they were the one you were weaving the spell around. Jareth had let Sarah out of the cell without restraining her in any visible way, but he would be damned if he was letting her loose in his kingdom without keeping a very tight magical rein on her. Slender filaments of green fire flowed from him, not visible to the naked eye, and wove covertly around Sarah, forming a kind of net around her. As they reached the guarded door, he nodded to the warrior who was now on duty. The man relaxed his guard and opened the door for them. Jareth mentally tied off the last threads of the spell and strengthened the link that bound it to him as they walked through the door.

Sarah was full to the brim with questions, but somehow sensed that she would not get any answers from the man who walked silently beside her. Every time she stole a glance in his direction she could see the look of intense concentration that caused his brow to furrow and his lips to press together in a straight line. Sarah wanted to know where they were going, and why he had suddenly gone from keeping her locked in a cell, to allowing her to walk free through his corridors. It did not make any sense, but at the same time she did not want to push her luck in case he changed his mind, and had her thrown back into the dark room. Soon they arrived at the main doors, which were swung open by two servant’s in house livery. The mid-afternoon sun blinded Sarah briefly, as her eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness of her cell. As her vision cleared and she looked around her, she began to hope that she was in fact hallucinating.

Three horses were saddled and waiting in the courtyard. Jareth’s own elegant grey stallion, a sleek black mare, and a stocky chestnut, shorter than the others. All three stood quietly under the sure touch of the stable hands, but that did not stop Sarah’s heart from plummeting towards her feet. She had never ridden before, and in fact she had never had very much to do with horses. It was not that she had anything specific against them; but more that they were an unknown, a factor she had not had to deal with. She glanced sideways and spotted what appeared to be a very satisfied smirk on Jareth’s face at her reaction. She had no doubt in her mind that he had planned this just to humiliate her.

Gwyneth had been waiting with the animals, dressed in a pair of loose riding breeches and a high necked, long split tunic in her usual black. Sable leather gloves and boots completed the outfit. As her cousin and the girl had emerged from the castle doors without any accompanying guards, she had wondered exactly what was going on. Then Gwyneth had sensed the magical ‘net’ that Jareth had woven tightly around the human. If the girl had any experience with the magic held within her, she would have been able to sense the spell that was preventing her from using any power, and from escaping. Gwyneth could see the large amount of strength that was being pulled out of Jareth in order for him to be able to maintain the shield. 

Jareth himself was, not for the first time today, filled with rather conflicting emotions. He had watched with some amusement the expression of dismay that appeared on Sarah’s face. He guessed correctly that she had little to no experience in horsemanship, and a rather sadistic part of his mind was looking forward to the next hour or so. At the same time another part of his mind was focused on keeping a tight lock on Sarah’s magic in case she tried to use it instinctively against them, or attempted to escape. The effort was showing only in a fine sheen of sweat that covered his brow. He took the reins from the stable boy and laid a gloved hand on his horses’ nose for a moment, breathing in the familiar smell of hay and molasses. Daithi snorted softly and leaned into his master’s touch, sensing something of his tension. The two of them had known each other for a long time and were very familiar. 

“It has been too many months, my old friend.” Jareth murmured. The stallion was descended from a long line of Fae stock, known for their elegantly long limbs and fleetness of foot. Because of their Faery blood they were also longer lived than normal horses. Daithi had served his master for many decades already, and had lived to see several generations of his own offspring. Jareth mounted the horse in one fluid movement, and indicated for the two women to do the same. 

Gwyneth was already astride her black mare, Branna. Only Sarah was left holding the reins of a horse that, while not tall compared to the others, still seemed as high as a mountain to her, and as intimidating. She was unsure exactly where to put her foot, and was in fact still clothed in the long sleeveless dress she had been wearing the day before. She did not think she could lift her foot as high as the stirrup, and did not really want to while wearing a skirt. After a few moments in which she felt her face heating more with every second, Jareth took pity on her and nodded to the stable hand, a tall, thin human youth. 

“If you’d like to step this way, my lady.” The dark haired lad bowed politely to her, and pointed towards a raised stone block that Sarah had not noticed before. Indicating that she was to climb up on it, he led the horse around to the side, where its back now seemed to be at a more reasonable level for her taste. Placing one foot awkwardly into the stirrup, she swung her other leg over the horses’ back. Sarah discovered rather quickly that in order to seat herself properly, she had to hike up her skirts over her knees. The horse stood solidly firm as she tried to settle herself and the stable hand adjusted her stirrups. 

Sarah did not think she could possibly blush any more than she was already. She felt there was so much blood in her face now that it might explode with the pressure at any moment. The stable boy politely looked away from her exposed legs with their bruised shins, and handed her the reins. He bowed once more and was about to leave, when he turned back and whispered to her, “His name is Derry, my lady.” She thought she saw one eyelid drop briefly before he turned and walked away towards the stables.

Jareth lightly flicked his reins and Daithi began to walk towards the gatehouse, Gwyneth following closely behind. Sarah awkwardly held the reins in her hands for a moment before trying to copy the action. Much to her relief the horse responded and began to move forward, following the two that were moving before him. Once they had exited the gatehouse and the huge wooden doors had been closed behind them, the two Faeran nudged their mounts into a trot. Sarah barely needed to tap her feet against Derry’s sides, as he eagerly took off after the others at the same time. Her focus was now entirely on trying to stay upright, and ignore the general discomfort that was quickly growing where her nether regions met the saddle with every bounce.

The afternoon sun was casting long shadows in front of them, and the air was still and rather hot. The city was bustling with activity, but they passed through it all, seemingly unnoticed. Once again Sarah remained unaware of the effects of magic being used around her, as Gwyneth was currently weaving a spell that caused the eyes of those who saw them to pass straight over them without remark. She knew Jareth would not want any delays, and there were inevitably those who wanted his attention every time he rode through the city. Jareth sensed what his cousin was doing and turned in the saddle to thank her with his eyes. Without incident they reached the outer gates and passed through them into the Labyrinth itself. 

After they had followed a wide stone road bordered with high hedges for several hundred meters, Jareth suddenly waved a hand and an archway appeared to their right. Sarah had been focused on holding on to the front of the saddle at the time and had missed the action. She felt as though she was going to split clean down the middle, and her thighs were beginning to chafe from the leather saddle. When she looked up she saw Jareth and Gwyneth disappear into the arch, and she hurriedly pulled the reins in the same direction. Derry obediently turned in to follow behind them. Sarah twisted around in the saddle just in time to see the opening disappear in a rustle of leaves. She swallowed, and turned her focus back to staying on the horse. 

They were in a narrower passage now, the hedges soaring high and nearly meeting overhead. It gave the feeling of a forest glade; the sunlight that filtered down made the foliage glow green and gold in its light. Sarah would have liked to be able to enjoy it, but without warning another opening appeared in what had seemed to be a dead end directly in front of them. Suddenly both Jareth and Gwyneth spurred their horses into a canter, and Derry helpfully followed suit. The next thing Sarah knew was the sudden pain at the back of her head landing on the hard stone floor, and the lack of air in her winded lungs. Her already-bruised tailbone ached, and it was a moment before she could sit up. She took in a shaky breath and did so, noticing for the first time that her horse was now standing right next to her. As soon as she had fallen, he had halted, and his long nose now leaned down to investigate why his rider had left him so suddenly. 

Jareth had heard the thud and wheeled Daithi around in a tight circle, pressing his lips together to suppress a laugh at the sight of Sarah flat on her back. He trotted towards her as she struggled to stand, red faced and breathing heavily. Gwyneth reined Branna in and held her position, the dark mare shifting slightly from side to side at being forced to stop suddenly. Jareth slid lightly out of the saddle and stood, waiting for Sarah to notice him.  
“Having a little trouble are we, Sarah?” Amusement was barely concealed in his voice, and Sarah glared up at him with what little dignity she had left. 

“If you would be so kind, Your Majesty.” Her teeth were gritted. Jareth reached out a hand to her and after a moment’s hesitation, she placed hers into it. A tingle passed all the way up to her elbow at the contact. With what seemed to be no effort at all he pulled her to her feet and released her hand. Sarah rubbed her palm on the fabric of her skirt to try and dispel the strange sensation still lingering there. Turning to her horse, she suddenly realized that she had no mounting block to help her regain her seat. She spun around to find that Jareth had walked up very close behind her, and was now openly grinning. His pointed feline smile did odd things to her already jumbled insides.

“I... that is... I can’t...” She gritted her teeth again. She hated to let him see that he threw her off balance. Without saying a word he linked his gloved hands together to form a stirrup. Sarah stared blankly at it for a moment. He was going to help her? Like this? 

“I do wish you would not make me wait. My offer is not indefinite.” Hurriedly Sarah placed one foot in his joined hands and, trying to touch him as little as possible, vaulted up into the saddle. Her whole body ached with the effort, new bruises added to yesterday’s. The usual skirt adjustment followed, much to Jareth’s obvious amusement. Sarah would be very surprised if the next time she saw her reflection, she did not see a hundred burst blood vessels all over her face from the constant pressure. Trying her best to look dignified with a scarlet face and exposed legs, she nodded to the Goblin King.

“Thank you.” He bowed mockingly and walked back to his own horse, mounting easily and trotting forward once more. To Sarah’s eyes Gwyneth looked expressionless, but Jareth could detect faint amusement there. She spurred her horse on and followed also. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

They had been traveling the passageways of the Labyrinth without speaking for close to an hour (a painful hour, from Sarah’s perspective), traversing through hedges, stone walls, and barriers that seemed to consist of trees growing so closely together that they appeared to be one living organism. The shadows had grown longer and the light was becoming tinged with red-gold as they finally slowed to a walk. Sarah had long ago lost track of how many turns they had taken and in which general direction they had come. Jareth opened a way in one of the living tree walls and they passed under it. They were now in a circular grove, ringed all around with the tree-walls, the ground covered thickly in leaves fallen from their branches. In the center was a large grey stone, weathered with age and covered in moss and lichen. A ray of sun falling through the trees had painted it with gold, and Sarah could faintly see lettering etched into its surface. 

Sarah did not realize it, but as soon as they had entered the clearing, Jareth had released the spell that had been held steady around her the whole way there. The three riders dismounted – the Fae did so elegantly, and Sarah did so stiffly, feeling as though it might be easier to simply fall down into the soft pile of leaves beneath her horses’ hooves. She was unsure of what to do next, and stood by the solid Derry, hands clutching the reins tightly. Jareth had walked to stand next to the stone with his cousin, and now beckoned Sarah to come closer. She did so slowly, feeling a little unsettled. There was something strange in the air, a sensation that made her stomach flutter nervously and the hair on her arms stand up. 

“Where are we?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Somehow she did not feel that it was proper for her to speak loudly in this place. 

“This is the place where my grandfather first laid claim to the land.” Jareth’s voice was also somewhat subdued, and he seemed to have lost his sardonic smirk. His face was now serious. “From here flowed the magic which connected him to the land, and allowed him to shape and rule it.” He pointed to the inscription – the text was unfamiliar to Sarah. “Here is his name, Padraic, and the date. Also our family adage – ‘Rule with Peace’.” Sarah was fascinated despite herself. Until seeing the portrait of his parents, she had not thought much about Jareth having a family. He certainly had not sprung fully formed from the ground. 

Her musing was interrupted by Gwyneth. “Shall we begin, then?” 

Sarah still was not certain why they were here, but the mood of the place was affecting her, and rather than ask questions, she held her tongue. Gwyneth moved to stand across from her, and Jareth stood to her left. The two of them joined hands, holding out their free ones to Sarah. She hesitated, unsure if she could handle touching two of the Faeran at the same time. Just being this close to both of them was a somewhat heady experience. She reached out timidly, noting that both of them had removed their gloves. Sarah’s hands were brown and rough compared to theirs, but the long elegant fingers on both sides grasped hers strongly. Jareth was like fire, and Gwyneth’s touch felt like a cold splash of water. Her body jolted once and she would have pulled away, but they held fast to her. 

She looked across at Gwyneth and saw her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be almost glowing around the edges. Sarah blinked to clear her eyes, thinking it must have been a stray sunbeam, but the glow had intensified. It was beginning to show faint tinges of midnight blue, the same colour as the lady’s eyes. A glance to her left showed that Jareth was also shimmering slightly, a bright, living green outlining his features. The luminosity from both of them was growing stronger every moment. Sarah glanced down to herself and inhaled sharply. She too was glowing, with the same bright green as the Goblin King. She could see every thread of her dress outlined in light, and every strand of hair falling over her shoulders seemed to shimmer and sparkle. 

She threw her head back and looked around her. Every tree was covered by a network of flowing amber veins, each leaf was outlined in gold dust. The fallen leaves beneath her feet glowed with a ruddy copper fire interlaced with purple, and the tiny blades of grass that showed through here and there were overflowing with green sparks, like tiny volcanoes. The sky above that she could see was woven and swirling all over with silver threads, almost as though she was seeing the wind. She could feel a pulsing through her entire being, like a heartbeat that was not her own. It shook her whole body slightly with every throb, and she could feel it the most where her hands were clasped by the others. 

Sarah began to feel dizzy with the sensation and closed her eyes. She realized then that she could still see the outlines of the two Fair Folk, glowing with light and colour. The stone in front of them was also visible, and from it radiance was rising like a fountain, in every colour she could possibly imagine. It was then that she saw a thick, distinct strand of green light flowing out towards Jareth, joined to his heart. It seemed to be the source of his glow now, enhancing it and dazzling her inner eye. A second strand appeared, slowly, gaining brightness with every moment. Sarah looked to see where it ended, and was shocked to see that it led to her, wrapping itself around her heart and causing it to shine intensely. The light poured into her, causing her to shine brighter and brighter. She felt as though she was being filled to the brim with effervescent liquid. 

Just when she reached the point where she felt she might burst, it began to slowly subside. The light she could see behind her closed eyes slowly faded and began to recede back into the stone. The filaments grew thinner and more delicate, twisting and weaving through the air before finally fading altogether. Sarah opened her eyes once more to find that her view of the world had returned to normal. She could still feel a faint throbbing where her hands were joined to Jareth and Gwyneth’s, and her knees felt as though they would buckle at any moment. 

Jareth also opened his eyes after a few moments and stared at the ground. He was trying to comprehend the significance of what he had just seen. Like it was with Sarah, the cord of light leading to her heart had been clearly visible to him. He had thought it would have been sourced from him, but had been rather stunned to see it springing from the stone. The stone itself held no magic; it was simply a conduit, a convenient opening for the magic of the land to flow outwards. The only other person he had seen with the same magical link was his own father, Ardan. Jareth had been brought here as a young child and taught how to see the living strands of magic that wove in and around the very fabric of the land itself, and even into his own heart. Ardan had taught him how to work with the magic, not force it to do what he wanted. He had ingrained into Jareth the very qualities it took to be a king – when to be firm and unyielding, when to allow himself to be moved, and how to be just and fair to all.

Yet another certainty of his life, another thing he thought could never be changed, had been shaken. He wondered how many more of these revelations he could take in one day. Feeling a little ill, Jareth turned to his cousin. Gwyneth saw the expression on his face and gave his hand a quick squeeze before finally releasing it and Sarah’s at the same time. Jareth realized he was still holding onto Sarah’s hand, and let go of it quickly, not looking in her direction. Much of the confidence and smugness he had been feeling earlier had evaporated, and now he simply felt tired. 

As her hand was released on both sides, Sarah stumbled back. Her legs did not want to hold her upright any longer, and she sat down abruptly into the soft groundcover of dead leaves. The sun was now almost fully down, and darkness filled much of the glade. Tiny blue lights were beginning to glimmer in the moss filled cracks of the walls, fireflies dimly echoing the vision she had seen earlier. She stared at her hands for a moment before breaking the silence.

“What does it mean?” the sound of her voice caused Jareth to lift his head and look at her. 

“It means, little Sarah,” his voice was rough from exhaustion, “that when you defeated me, you achieved much more than you bargained for.” Sarah was confused.

“What do you mean? What did I do?”

Gwyneth spoke this time. “No one had solved the Labyrinth before you did, child. Most had not even tried. And when you accomplished what no other had, it seems the land itself felt what you had done.”

“The land? You mean, when things...” she swallowed nervously “fell apart?”

“Yes, it was precisely then.” Jareth watched Sarah’s face as he spoke. “The land itself is not sentient; it is not a being capable of making decisions as you and I are. However, I would guess that when you broke free of my control, it sensed you as someone who it considered to be... equal to myself. It sensed the control you were already able to have over it, and for some reason I cannot grasp, saw fit to gift you with your own magic. Until now,” he began to pace “only members of my family have been connected to the land like this. I do not know what to do in such a situation. There are no guides for this – it has never happened before.” Sarah was taken aback to hear uncertainty in his voice. It was not a quality she had ever associated with the confident, arrogant Goblin King. 

“I didn’t know.” Sarah could only whisper, staring at the ground. A firefly was flickering on and off between her feet. After a few moments silence, Gwyneth took charge of the situation.

“Night will soon be here – we should return to the castle. Cousin, do you wish to have the girl imprisoned again?” Jareth shook his head at this.

“No, Gwyneth.” He turned to Sarah, and began to pull his gloves on once more. “You would not do anything as ridiculous as try and run away now, would you?” She shook her head mutely. “Then you may return to whatever quarters you were abiding in before. Gwyneth will see to your injuries.” Without another word he walked over to Sarah’s horse and stood with his hands cupped, as he had before. Sarah hurried over to where he was and with his assistance, mounted Derry. Bare legs hardly seemed to matter now, and Jareth certainly was not smirking at her like he had been. He mounted his own horse, as did Gwyneth, and the three of them left the way they had come, heading towards the lights of the castle that were beginning to glow dimly in the distance.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AND I SAID WHAT ABOUT, BREAKFAST AT JARETHS

It was fully night as they rode into the city, torches illuminating the streets on both sides. There were still many folk, goblin and human, about their business. The three had ridden in silence the whole way back, each lost in thought. About halfway through the city, a shout suddenly rang out. 

“Jaweth! Jaweth!” A child with tousled dark hair was running towards them, arms outstretched, grinning. He headed straight for Jareth’s horse, showing no fear of sharp hooves or of reprimand. As the child’s face came into the light Sarah saw his unusual features – high, rounded forehead, slanted eyes, and small upturned nose. Jareth had stopped his horse and slid down, kneeling in front of the boy. The child’s arms went around Jareth’s neck and he stood, holding the youngster in his arms. The boy whispered something in the King’s ear, and Jareth turned to look at Sarah. He nodded and began to walk towards her. Sarah realized as they came closer that the child was affected by a condition she was familiar with – Down’s syndrome, it had been called in her world. 

“Sarah, this is Tomas. He would like to meet you.” Sarah swallowed down a lump in her throat and smiled shakily at the little boy. 

“I would like to meet you too.”

“You’re pwetty.” He was beaming at her openly, his smile innocent. Sarah could see an adult figure approaching from a nearby house, holding back somewhat. Suddenly Tomas reached out his hands to her, clearly wanting to be held. Sarah put out her arms and Jareth placed the child into them. His warm little hands touched all over her face, as though he wanted to feel what she looked like as well as see. Sarah glanced over his shoulder at Jareth, suddenly finding it hard to keep tears from her eyes. Jareth’s expression was unreadable. It was not something she had particularly thought about, that special children like this one would also be wished away by parents who felt they could not cope with caring for them. Suddenly her respect for Jareth deepened. This child had run to him without any fear and with open joy, and Jareth had gotten down on his knees and talked to him as though he was truly important. 

Gwyneth had dismounted and gone towards the person hesitating in the shadows. Speaking quietly to her, she led the woman forward. She was a human, and looked warm and friendly, although concerned. Sarah guessed this was the child’s adopted mother. Tomas grinned at her once more and planted a damp kiss on one cheek, before submitting to being taken back by his mother. The woman curtseyed deeply to the King while holding the child in her arms, and Jareth murmured something to her that Sarah could not hear, smiling just a little.

“Bye!” Tomas waved enthusiastically, and Sarah could not help but wave back. She did not trust herself to say anything at this point. The woman carried the child back into their dwelling. Jareth and Gwyneth both remounted their horses and the three continued on their way towards the castle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hostlers ran forward to take the reins while the exhausted riders finally dismounted onto the cobblestones. Jareth excused himself with a swift bow and strode quickly towards the castle. Sarah and Gwyneth were left facing each other in silence. Finally the lady spoke.

“I suppose I should call you by your true name now, should I not, Sarah?” Sarah flushed at her words and could not meet the lady’s eyes. Gwyneth waved a hand tiredly. 

“Oh, never mind child. I understand why you did what you did. You were merely trying to protect yourself. Come, it is growing late, and we are both tired.” She turned and began to walk towards the castle. Sarah followed after a moment, feeling as though her legs were made of lead. Through the main doors and winding hallways they walked in silence together, until they reached the familiar door leading to the workshop and Gwyneth’s bedroom. Sarah felt as though a lifetime had passed since she had last walked through that door, although in fact less than twenty-six hours had gone by. They entered the working space and Gwyneth indicated that Sarah should take a seat. She did so with a grimace, feeling an ache in every bone in her body. Gwyneth went over to a shelf lined with small jars and after scanning it for a moment, took down several. She came back to where Sarah was sitting and looked her over with a practiced eye. 

“Where are you bruised?”

Sarah held up her right arm and pointed to her elbow. She then kicked off her right slipper and held up her foot. The toe she had banged against the archway last night was purple, as was a large portion of the foot below it. Then she lifted her skirts to reveal her battered shins. Gwyneth’s eyebrows went up higher and higher with each one, and Sarah wondered if she was trying not to laugh. It seemed that Sarah had a tendency to bruise rather dramatically.

“And here, from earlier.” She touched the back of her head where a swollen knot had developed, wincing as she did so. Gwyneth nodded and opened the jars she had taken down, using a spoon to take a portion of the ointment from each one. She mixed them together in a small glass bowl, and then seated herself beside Sarah. 

“I am using arnica, comfrey and some hypericum. Do you remember which plants those were?” Sarah nodded but did not speak. Taking a small dab of paste, Gwyneth began to work it gently into the skin on and around Sarah’s elbow. The lady’s touch was gentle but firm and Sarah felt none of the coldness that she had earlier. Instead warmth spread from her fingertips as she massaged the area, relieving the ache somewhat. After a few moments Gwyneth spoke in a quiet voice.

“Do I have to use a spell again to get you to talk to me?” Sarah opened her mouth to speak and snapped it shut again. It took her a minute to try once more. 

“What... should I talk about?”

“Anything you wish to, child.”

Sarah sat and thought for a moment. Much of her earlier anger and frustration had been drained by the events and revelations of the day, and all the things she had been planning to say to Jareth now seemed somewhat unimportant for the moment. She quite simply did not know how she was supposed to be feeling at the moment. So she began with that.

“I thought that I would feel... different, if I had magic.”

Gwyneth had finished applying ointment to Sarah’s arm and moved to sit in front of her, indicating that Sarah was to lift her feet into Gwyneth’s lap. She raised one eyebrow at Sarah and smiled a little but did not say anything.

“I thought it might be something like in stories, where you would know straight away, and it would somehow make you special. I guess I used to think fairies granted wishes, too.” She laughed once, unconvincingly.

“Fairies? Granting wishes?” Gwyneth sounded amused. “What sort of tales were you told as a child?”

That drew a wan smile from Sarah. “A few months working in a garden in the Underground changed my mind.” She winced and inhaled sharply as Gwyneth’s fingers found a particularly tender spot on top of her foot. As soon as Gwyneth heard her indrawn breath she eased up on the pressure, but continued to rub in the salve. 

“Magic is usually something you are born with. So for most folk, human or otherwise, you do not know what life is like without it. It is like asking someone born with both arms what it feels like to have none.”

Sarah thought she understood what was being said, and felt her awkwardness fading in the face of curiosity. “So even if I ask you what it feels like, you can’t really tell me.”

“Exactly. However, you may certainly be taught how to have control over it, and how to use it correctly.” Gwyneth stood now and walked behind Sarah. “You hit your head also, did you not?” Sarah nodded and lifted a hand to the lump at the back of her head. Gwyneth parted her hair with careful fingers and began to work the last of the ointment into her scalp. Nothing more was said while she worked, and Sarah found herself having to stifle a yawn.

Gwyneth finished applying the ointment and laid a hand on the back of the girl’s head. As she had been working, she had sent a very tiny thread of magic into Sarah, designed to relax her. Slowly Sarah’s head drooped more and more, and her breathing became deeper and more regular. After a few more minutes she was slumped forward in the chair. With a sigh, Gwyneth picked her up in strong arms and carried her out of the workshop and through the glass doors. She walked through the garden in the moonlight and when she reached the girl’s cabin, opened the door with a flicking motion of her fingers. Placing Sarah on her bed, she covered her with a blanket and stood for a moment, looking down at her.

_I wonder if you really know what lies ahead of you, child._

She walked out and closed the door behind her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The throne room was quiet and empty. On the far wall, a single torch was burning in a wrought iron sconce. Jareth stood in the doorway for a moment, his hands resting on the stone archway as though gaining strength from its solidity. In the half light he could see the general rubbish that had been cast around the room – empty ale kegs, clothes scattered everywhere, half eaten plates of food, feathers. He sighed. Usually he abhorred the mess left behind by his subjects, but tonight he found it an oddly comforting sight. At least it was one thing in his kingdom that had not changed. The goblins were remarkably consistent in the amount and type of mess they tended to create. Jareth slowly walked across the room towards his throne. He had considered going to his rooms to rest, but despite his fatigue, his head was whirling with too many thoughts to allow him to sleep.   
He lowered himself slowly into his throne, feeling slightly achy all over. As he settled himself back into the seat, his back encountered a lump which suddenly came to life, squirming and shrieking. He reached behind to pull out a small goblin which had been asleep on the seat of the throne. It shook its tiny fist at him, oversized teeth bared, and screeched unintelligibly. Jareth rolled his eyes and flung the goblin towards the nearest window, where it sprouted leathery wings in midair and flapped away, cackling with laughter. He quickly checked the rest of his throne to make certain there were no more unwelcome visitors and settled back down again with a sigh. An Fómhar was nearly upon them, the beginning of Lúnasa only a few days away. Soon the harvest would begin and late barley crops would be brought in, vegetables gathered and orchards cleared of their fruit. There was always much to be done at the turn of the season to prepare for the cold ahead. 

Jareth wished he could allow himself to dwell on the earthy, comforting thoughts of food stores and farms, but he knew there were more important things that required his attention. Such as how he was going to tell Sarah that her younger brother was currently in the Underground, and likely on his way back to this very castle. Not to mention how he would explain to Toby that he did, after all, have Sarah in his possession. Sarah, who was now tapped into a source of power greater than anything she had ever known. She was now no longer out of sight or out of mind. Not that she and her devastating eyes had ever totally left his thoughts. Had it only been that morning he had walked into the cell and seen her there? He felt as though years had passed in the interim. The sight of her had shocked him to the bone. The events of her last visit began to play back across his inner mind once more. He should not have to deal with this again! Had not she done enough damage? Was he to be tested even more? Suddenly he felt much older than his 500-some years. 

Leaning his head back against the throne, he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. He would simply have to deal with the situation as it came. For now, it would be best to tread lightly around Sarah. He would do his best to maintain the peace, and deal with the storm when it came. Gradually the torch on the wall guttered and went out, and light from the growing moon softly filtered its way in, painting the room and its occupant in pale silver.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Sarah woke slowly, sun streaming in through the window and splashing onto her face. She grumbled slightly to herself, throwing one hand over her eyes to block the light. The covers felt hot on her, and she shifted, throwing them off with one leg. Her legs were tangled in skirts, which made the action difficult, and caused her to suddenly open her eyes. Why had she been asleep in her dress? Slowly the events of the day before began to creep back into her memory. Her capture and Jareth’s return, their journey through the Labyrinth, and the discovery of her magic. She did not remember how she had come to be back in her own bed, but she suspected Gwyneth had something to do with it, as the last thing she remembered was sitting in the workshop. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she looked down at her shins. The bruising had gone down a fair way, although they were still an unhealthy shade of green and yellow. Streaks of dirt covered both her arms and legs, and she guessed her face must look much the same. 

Standing, she walked over to the pump, feeling the ache in her legs from the long ride yesterday. Cold water splashed out into a bucket, and Sarah pulled the dress over her head. She dropped it on the ground, wishing she had a spare – it too showed the aftereffects of the past day, and was dirty and torn in several places. Shedding her undergarments and shivering a little, she sat on a stool and washed herself quickly with a cloth and a bar of soap, paying special attention to her face. 

It occurred to her that she had not truly looked into a mirror for a couple of years. With no makeup to apply, and no time or inclination to sit looking at herself, she simply had not thought about it. The occasional reflection caught in a windowpane or the still water in a bucket showed few details. She wondered what she looked like now, and how different she was from the girl who had first run the Labyrinth nearly seven years ago. Sarah ran one hand through her hair, combing out the tangles with her fingers, and was somewhat pleased to note that it was returning to its old length. It needed a trim badly, but this was again one of the things that had not exactly been a priority. How did one go about getting a haircut in the Underground, anyway? She decided to leave it hanging down for a change, instead of tying it behind her.

Sarah finished washing herself and attacked her dress with the wet cloth, trying to work out the worst of the stains. It was still a little damp when she pulled it back over her head, but at least she felt less like a street child and a little more, well, human. She opened her door and poured the remaining water onto the red geranium that was growing just outside. The sun had already risen over the high stone walls, and the breeze felt cool for a change. Sarah was normally up at dawn, and felt as though she had slept in. She sat down on the low wooden stool just outside her door and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of sunshine on her face. Her mind strayed again to all that had taken place. She remembered the beauty of the world she had glimpsed in the glade, the colours and light. Was that what it meant to have magic? To have access to that kind of thing, to have your outlook of the world changed? Sarah opened her eyes and looked down at the palms of her hands resting on her lap. They looked to her as they always had - ordinary. Chapped and rough, broken nails that seemed to always hold a layer of dirt, hands that now knew hard work. 

She was interrupted in her thoughts by a dull ache in her middle. Her stomach felt hollow, and it occurred to her that she had not eaten a full meal in nearly two days. She sometimes kept a loaf of bread or some other kind of food in her small cupboard, but she knew it was empty at the moment. Unsure quite what to do, she stood and walked slowly through the garden, wondering whether she could get a meal from the kitchen as she had been able to before. Jareth had said he did not want her imprisoned again, but that did not mean she might not still be under some sort of house arrest.

The doors to the workshop stood wide open, and Sarah could already see Gwyneth seated on her high stool, bent over something. She turned as the girl entered the room, and Sarah could see that she had been reading from a thick open book laid out in front of her. She did not smile when she saw Sarah, but neither did she frown.

“Good morning. I imagine you are hungry?” Gwyneth spoke without any preamble, seeming to know exactly how Sarah was feeling. Sarah nodded, still feeling awkward conversing with the lady.

“Good morning. I didn’t think I would sleep in so late.”

Gwyneth did smile just slightly at Sarah’s comment. Standing, she indicated for Sarah to expose her legs. Obediently, she lifted her hem to show her foot and shins, and then held out her arms for inspection. Gwyneth checked her over carefully and seemed satisfied with her progress. 

“Sit, child. I will put some more salve on for you.” Sarah sat, and the process of the night before was repeated, minus conversation. As she finished and wiped her hands on a cloth that hung from her belt, Gwyneth finally spoke.

“My cousin wished me to tell you that he is waiting for you in his outer chamber, with breakfast. I believe there are matters he wishes to discuss.” Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise at this comment. Breakfast? That was the last thing she had expected Jareth to offer her, let alone in his own private chambers. When Sarah did not reply, Gwyneth added “Do you remember the way?” Sarah flushed red at this, and shook her head.

“I was lost, and it was dark...” her voice trailed off. 

“I will take you then.” She looked Sarah over critically. “I suppose a dress that is not full of holes would be more appropriate for a royal audience.” Sarah thought she saw another ghost of a smile pass over the lady’s face. “We will go via the storehouse. Come.”

They walked together down the halls, passing servants both human and goblin about their business. Sarah could feel the curious stares following her as she walked along with the tall woman, and she wondered exactly what was being said about her amongst them. Surely they had all heard by now what she had done, and what had happened as a result. They probably thought she was being taken away to be punished right now. Sarah wished she could sink through the floor rather than face the speculative glances and whispers of those she passed. Thankfully the storehouse was not very far away, and was only attended by a single goblin man. Short and stumpy, his huge nose dominated most of his face, and he squinted at her through tiny brown eyes. When he noticed the lady with her, he bowed low, surprisingly elegant for someone already so close to the ground. 

“What can I do for ye, my Lady?”

“This girl needs new attire.” The little man peered up at Sarah again, as though he were measuring her with his eyes. He nodded once and disappeared into a maze of shelves, appearing moments later with a dress nearly identical to the one she was wearing, in the same colours of midnight blue and claret. He was carrying with him a new pair of leather shoes as well, having observed that hers were a little worse for wear from gardening. The man waved her over to a curtained area with the bundle, and she changed quickly. The dress fit her better than her last one, and she guessed that was probably because she was healthier now than she had been. Or perhaps this man was a better judge of size than the head housekeeper had been. Slipping on her new shoes, she emerged, and was met with an approving nod from Gwyneth. 

“My thanks to you, Tuch.” Tuch bowed low once more, and they took their leave. They walked for a while longer, and the closer they came to their destination, the more Sarah hung back. She did not want to face Jareth right now, and frankly she was afraid of what might happen. She had expected... well, she had imagined a lot of scenarios, and none of them had come close to the reality so far. And it was very likely that the situation she was walking into would be the same. All too soon they reached an arched doorway, guarded on either side by tall, black-clad warriors. They stood motionless as Sarah and the lady approached, and at her nod, one of them opened the door and swung it open. Gwyneth stood aside to let Sarah enter. Sarah froze, horrified at the thought of going in there alone.

“You... you’re not coming in too?” Her voice was squeaky in her own ears, and she winced. The possibility had not occurred to her. Gwyneth shook her head.

“I was not invited.” Her voice held some amusement. “Now go. It does not do to keep the King waiting.”

Sarah laced her hands tightly in front of her, took a deep, shaky breath, and walked in.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Author accidentally writes an OC that she likes as much as the main character...

The sun was streaming in through the windows and onto Jareth, who was seated at the small wooden table to her left. He was dressed casually in linen breeches and a long sleeved white shirt, open at the neck. His usual crescent shaped gold amulet hung in the center of his chest. Sarah stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. He showed none of the extravagance she had expected from him, and it threw her off guard that, again, he was not what she had anticipated. She watched a slow grin appear on his face, and he beckoned to her.

“Oh, do sit down Sarah. You look so _uncomfortable_ just standing there.” His tone was friendly but laced with mockery. She moved woodenly over to the table and sat opposite him, as far away as she could be. She then noticed that the table was set with an elegant breakfast of condiments, pastries, eggs, thick slices of bread, steaming cups of beverage, and many other delicacies. She had not seen such a spread in years, and it was difficult to stop her mouth from watering and betraying her hunger. It was her stomach that gave her away, growling loudly enough for both of them to hear. Jareth chuckled at the noise, as Sarah felt her face growing hot. Would she ever be able to control that infernal blushing? What she did not know was how Jareth was admiring the rosy flush that painted her cheeks. 

“Come now, there is no need to stand on ceremony. It has never stopped you before, now has it?”

At his words Sarah frowned and reached out quickly to take a sweet pastry from the platter before her. She did not think she could be polite for much longer with hunger persistently gnawing away at her belly. The first bite was heavenly – the light, flaky pastry melted in her mouth, causing her to close her eyes briefly in bliss. Jareth watched her savour the food, taking the opportunity to observe her properly. The day before she had been dirty and terrified, and he had not looked very closely. Her face was thinner than it had been, a little older, obviously, and her skin was brown from working outside in the sun. It made her eyes seem even greener, and he found her sun streaked hair appealing. He noted that she had left it lose today, hanging around her face. It was like a very strange dream, seeing her again, and under these circumstances. Jareth was still unsure of whether it would be a good dream or a bad one. Suddenly Sarah became aware of the observation and stopped chewing, her mouth still full with food. Swallowing quickly, she dropped the rest of the pastry and wiped her hands on a cloth napkin.

“It is not poisoned, Sarah. You should know by now I would never use the same method twice. And besides, what do I have to gain? You are not here to take back your baby brother and destroy my kingdom this time.” Damn. Two things he had told himself that he would not mention. He gritted his teeth and attempted to look pleasant, as though he had been joking. Sarah looked at him suspiciously. He felt those damned eyes gazing right through him.

“So... why did you ask me here, then?” She could not help being on guard when he was sarcastic, as it usually meant trouble for her. 

“Why, I simply wanted to talk to you, Sarah. Is that so wrong?” he spread his hands, as though revealing he had nothing to hide. 

“I suppose... I have questions to ask as well.” She picked up the last piece of her pastry and ate it slowly, as though deep in thought. He hoped she would not ask him to send her home. It would simply be too complicated at the moment, and he wanted to have her kept under close supervision. She would be dangerous walking loose with an awareness of her magic but with no means to control it. Jareth reached over and took a piece of bread, slowly spreading it with sweet apple conserve. He ate neatly, impeccably, never dropping a crumb. Sarah had started on a second pastry, this one sprinkled with flaked nuts and dried fruit. Her enjoyment of the food was so openly displayed on her face that Jareth nearly laughed aloud. She had never been able to hide what she was feeling. It was a quality that had attracted him to her initially. He poured Sarah a cup of steaming, fragrant herbal tea and stirred a little honey into it, before pouring one for himself. Drinking slowly, he watched as Sarah slowed down, seeming to reach a point of satiety. She sipped her tea, stealing glances at him over the rim. Jareth pretended not to notice, and fixed his gaze onto the wall behind her.

“Did you sleep well last night?” She surprised him with the question. He swung his eyes back to find her watching him openly now. He decided that honesty was the best tactic.

“Not particularly well. I had much to think about, and found it difficult to relax.” He saw her nod slowly to herself. Sarah certainly appeared less impulsive than she had been, thinking more often before she spoke. “And yourself?”

“Fine, I think.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t really remember.”

The sleep of the innocent, hm? How ironic. Or perhaps his cousin had some hand in the matter. He declined to comment out loud.

Sarah looked down at her hands, unsure of what to say next. She had not really been in any social situation the last few years, and needless to say that breakfasting with a King was not something she had much experience in anyway. The silence stretched between them for a long moment.

“Sarah, if I may be candid.”

“Of course.” She looked a little confused.

“You must understand my position here. I am rather at a loss of what to do with you. I do not know whether to relieve you of your duties with my cousin, or allow you to continue working. I could let you sleep out there in that tiny shed, or I could put you up in quarters in the castle. You have no position, no real status, and by all rights, you should not even be here. The connection that has been formed between you and my land does not allow me to simply treat you like a servant.” Jareth tried to avoid putting an inflection on ‘my land’. He did not want to sound like a petulant child who had suddenly been asked to share his most cherished toy.

Sarah frowned at his comment. So that was why he was being nice to her now? If she did not have magic, he would have simply flung her back into the dungeon? But then, she had to admit that if she did not have magic, then none of this would be happening at all. Her adventure would have ended the first time she left the Labyrinth, and she would still be living out her ‘normal’ life. Her mouth had opened to speak angrily, but she closed it with a snap. He did say he was going to be honest with her. She could at least respect that.

“I don’t know what to do with me, either.” Her mouth twisted, and she looked down at her empty plate. “I thought I was you who had brought me here, to punish me, and I hated you for it. I had even planned what I was going to say when I saw you. But now...” her voice trailed off and she looked up at him, conflict and confusion in her eyes. Both were silent once more, Sarah toying with a small silver fork, and Jareth slowly drinking his tea before speaking again. 

“One thing we must be in agreement with, is your need to be trained.” Sarah looked up at this, suddenly interested. “Either myself or my cousin are of course the best qualified to undertake that, at least within my own kingdom.”

“I would like that.” Sarah nodded. Jareth waited, sensing there was much more that she wanted to say, but chose not to press her. He wiped his mouth neatly with a linen napkin, and rose from the table. Sarah, unsure whether it was correct protocol to stand or remain seated, half stood up, knocking her chair over. She was too embarrassed to try and right it again, so stood fully. Jareth watched the wave of colour sweep over her face once more. It really was somewhat charming, he thought to himself, lifting one hand to his lips to hide a smile.

“We shall discuss the details later, then. I have business to attend to for much of the day, Sarah. There are many things that have remained unfinished in my absence. If you wish, you may continue on as you were, and I will join you in the evening once my affairs are concluded.”

Sarah thought for a moment, and asked tentatively “Could I go... somewhere else in the castle?” Jareth raised one eyebrow at this but decided to humour her. He could always have her followed to make sure she did not go anywhere she was not supposed to.

“You may go wherever you choose, provided it is within the castle grounds.” Before Sarah could thank Jareth, he bowed mockingly from the waist, plucked the tailored jacket that had been hanging on the seat behind him and strode out through the doors. Sarah was left in the company of two stone faced guards, and decided that leaving this room as quickly as possible would be the best plan.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sarah had been wandering for almost an hour, thinking. There had been many things left unsaid by both of them during the unexpected breakfast with the Goblin King. She did not know what Jareth had been thinking – she had not been able to decipher his actions at the best of times, and had found it difficult this morning to look into his eyes. His attitude towards her had gone through some major changes in the last few days – shock and anger (although she suspected he had not intended for her to see that), distain, aloofness, mocking humour, and now this odd mix of courtesy and caution. At least, that is how she interpreted his actions towards her. What really lurked under the surface could be anything – even the total opposite of what he wanted her to believe. 

Sarah was confused at her own actions, also. She had always thought that the first thing she would ask Jareth when she saw him was to send her back home, but the subject had not even been brought up. She may have even assumed that the moment he saw her, he would wave his hands or some such, and would whisk her straight back home. That goal which she had desired for so long was now relegated to the back of her mind whenever he was in the same room as her. She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not realize when she had walked outside and into the courtyard until the shrill neigh of a horse jerked her back into reality. 

Squinting slightly, Sarah looked around her in the late morning light and found herself standing near the stables. There were only a few hostlers working, and a young boy mucking out the stalls. Sarah noticed the soft brown nose of Derry hanging over a stall door, and suddenly had the urge to say hello. The thought surprised her, as before yesterday if she had found herself near the stables, she would have turned and walked away. She supposed it had been less the horses fault and more hers that she had been jogged to high heaven and thrown to the ground. Walking slowly over the flagstones and watching all the time for someone who might stop her or tell her off simply for being there, Sarah approached the horse. Derry snorted softly and tossed his head as she came closer, turning his head slightly to watch her with one liquid eye. 

Sarah stopped several feet from the stall door and stood hesitantly, not sure what to do next. Derry snorted again and stretched his neck towards her, snuffling the air. She took another step forward and reached out a hand, fingertips grazing his velvet nose slightly. He tossed his head and stretched out towards her hand again, seeking more. 

“He doesn’t bite, you know.” 

Sarah jumped in surprise at the voice that suddenly sounded behind her. Whirling around guiltily, she saw it was the same young hostler who had helped her to mount Derry the day before. He stood several inches above her, dark hair tied back into a ponytail at the base of his neck. She guessed him to be around her age, but was unsure. His pale green eyes twinkled just a little; and he smiled at her. Sarah found herself smiling in return, relieved that he seemed to be friendly. He bowed a little, and grinned openly.

“Well, perhaps he’s taken a bite out of me once or twice. My name is Eamon, lady. Would you like to give him something to eat?” From a bulging vest pocket he pulled the browning half of an apple, and held it out to her. Sarah was a little surprised at his directness, but took it anyway. 

“How do I feed him?”

“Here. Like this.” Eamon took her hand and opened the palm out flat, placing the apple on top. Pulling her forward a little, he lifted her hand level with the horses’ nose. Derry sniffed once and delicately lipped the apple off her palm, crunching it juicily. He was finished in a moment and sniffed for more. Eamon let go and chuckled.

“I have more, if you’d like. He always was a greedy pig.” Sarah could not help but grin back, drawn to the friendliness she saw in his face. It seemed a long time since anyone had approached her so openly, and the fact that he was neither Faeran nor goblin, but comfortably human, set her at ease. Suddenly feeling rude for not introducing herself, Sarah put out a hand.

“I’m Sarah. Thanks for helping me yesterday, Eamon.” Instead of shaking her hand, he took it and bowed over it exaggeratedly, flourishing an imaginary hat in his other hand. 

“It’s always my pleasure to help such a pretty lady.” For a brief moment his eyes flicked down to her legs, and she flushed remembering her undignified position of the day before. Eamon’s smile widened and he released her hand, then dug into his pocket for more pieces of apple, handing Sarah a slice. This time she held out the fruit herself, and Derry took it as before, slobbering a little on her palm. She laughed and wiped her hand on the side of her dress, and caught herself, realizing she had not really laughed much of late. It was not that she had been particularly miserable, but simply had very little opportunity to just have fun. Not that she would have usually considered feeding a horse to be enjoyable, but it certainly seemed that way now.   
“Where do you come from? I suppose you have business with His Majesty, then?” Eamon looked at her with curiosity.

Sarah was not sure how to answer, and stumbled over her words. “I came... that... over there.” She vaguely waved in the direction of the city. “I can’t... well...”

“Don’t worry, if you aren’t allowed to talk about it then I won’t ask. He has reasons for doing what he does.” He tapped his nose with a finger, and winked knowingly. Sarah was relieved that he pushed her no further, as she did not think she could have come up with a suitable lie in a hurry. 

Eamon continued. “Was yesterday your first time on the back of a horse, then?” Sarah nodded earnestly. 

“Wasn’t it obvious?” The young man laughed at that.

“I was trying to be polite, you know. I thought maybe you were just having a bad day.” His eyelid dropped briefly, mirroring the gesture he had given her the day before. Sarah found herself rolling her eyes.

“Bad day would be an understatement. Try disastrous.” He laughed again at her comment.

“Well then. Perhaps you simply need the right teacher, eh?”

“Me? I don’t think so. I mean, I’m sure you’re a great teacher and all, but I don’t really want to get back up on that horse in a hurry. No offence to you, Derry.” She turned to the horse, who seemed to bob his head in a nod, as though agreeing with her. It was so easy to talk with Eamon, and Sarah was finding it rather cathartic. She had not talked so much in a long time, and the words practically tripped off her tongue. She supposed Gwyneth must think her to be taciturn, but conversation did not come very easily when one felt intimidated. Eamon lifted one hand to stroke Derry’s velvet nose, speaking to the horse in a stage-whisper. 

“Ah, my old mate, how can we convince this lovely lady to trust us?” The horse snorted loudly and shook his head, spraying spittle over the two. Sarah spluttered and wiped her face with a sleeve, whilst Eamon simply stood, looking bemused.

“That,” he spoke very deliberately, “was not quite the answer I was expecting.” Sarah felt a giggle bubble up and burst out before she could stop it. Eamon began to slowly mop the horse slobber off his face with his sleeve, mouth twitching. Now that they were released, Sarah found she could not stop giggling. She tried clapping her hands over her mouth to no avail, and continued to shake with laughter, Eamon grinning self-deprecatingly. She was not quite sure when she began to sob, or when the tears of mirth leaking from the corners of her eyes became genuine, but suddenly she was doubled over, her shoulders shaking, and great wrenching sobs coming from behind her hands. She dropped to the floor and covered her face. Eamon’s expression became concerned and he knelt down beside her, reaching out but not quite touching her shoulder.

“Lady... what is it? Did I say something?” Sarah could only shake her head as she continued to sob. Rather at a loss with what to do, the hostler looked around helplessly, although there was no-one else there. He awkwardly placed one hand on her arm, and when she made no move to shrug him off, patted it once or twice. After several minutes the sobs slowed, and Sarah began to hiccup. She scrubbed at the tears on her face, her whole body jerking every few seconds. Nearly ready to begin crying again, this time with frustration, she tried to speak, her words interspersed with hiccups.

“W...water... pl...please.” Eamon stood quickly and walked towards a large wooden bucket full of water. Retrieving a leather cup from a shelf nearby, he dipped it in the bucket and brought it to Sarah, water sloshing over the sides. Sarah took it and began to drink, and immediately hiccupped again, spilling water down her dress. She tried again and this time managed to drink the whole cup without hiccupping once. She looked up as Eamon handed her a piece of cloth, and tried to smile.

“Thank you.” She mopped at her face and eyes, and then at the front of her dress, feeling like an idiot. She supposed she must look like one too, as she had never thought herself to be at her most attractive when red faced and crying uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” she was cut off by Eamon waving his hand casually, as though dismissing the whole thing.

“’Tis nothing. I thought maybe you had an adverse reaction to horse spit.” Sarah giggled once, weakly. “As long as it wasn’t something I did to upset you. But,” he paused and looked at her seriously, “you look like you needed to do that.” Sarah nodded and blew her nose loudly on the cloth. “And you may certainly keep that now.” He pretended to look offended which drew another giggle from Sarah. Standing, he offered his hand to her. She accepted it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

“Now, will you take us up on our offer? We’re not such a bad team.” He draped one arm around Derry’s neck, who promptly turned and began to nibble on his shirt. Sarah was actually beginning to think it might be fun, but waved a hand at her dress.

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion.” Eamon pretended to look her over, nodding seriously. 

“Indeed, lovely lady. I may have the solution for that.” He disappeared for a moment into a door at the end of the stables, and returned a moment later with a pair of loose, baggy trousers over one arm. He held them up for her inspection. They were a fairly indistinct colour and looked worse for wear.

“If you were to wear these as well, you could pretend that dress is simply a really long tunic, and not have to worry about being, er, unladylike.” Now it was his turn to flush a little, and he thrust the clothing forward. Sarah took it and smiled at him, looking around for somewhere to change. 

“Oh! Here, this stall is empty. I’ll stand guard and make sure no one sneaks up on you.” He waved towards a stall with the doors standing open. Sarah entered and closed them behind her, and pulled on the trousers, hitching up her skirt as she went. She was thankful for the cord to tighten them at the waist, as she would have lost them promptly otherwise. They were very long, and she had to fold them several times at the ankle to stop them dragging behind her, although she was careful not to show any actual leg. 

Sarah found it strange that her standards of modesty had changed so much during her time here. Normally she would have been quite happy in shorts and a t-shirt at this time of year, but now she found the prospect of showing so much skin to be somewhat embarrassing. Stepping back out from the stall, Eamon turned around to see how she had done, his mouth tipping a little at the strange sight she made. Her dress was hitched up and the fabric knotted at her side in an awkward lump, and the baggy pants made her appear almost comical. At least she felt somewhat more prepared this way. Eamon resisted laughing and clapped his hands together. 

“Right then, let’s get down to business. Now, the first thing you need to learn, besides spoiling him with treats, is how to saddle your horse.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah is me in social situations - laugh, cry uncontrollably, or just be really uncomfortable.

Sarah was still smiling when she was summoned to dinner, freshly washed and feeling a little freer than she had been before. She swore her steps felt lighter as she walked along behind the stone-faced guard who had been sent to escort her, the memories of the day buoying her up. Gwyneth had not been within the workshop when she returned, and rather than sit around and wait, she decided that a proper bath would be a good idea. Not only to get rid of the horse-smell lingering around her, but also a soak in the hot water would relieve yesterday’s aches, as well as today’s newly acquired (albeit milder) ones. She had lingered as long as she dared, washing her hair thoroughly and combing it out to dry. She even eyed off a pair of gardening shears once she returned to her room, wondering if she could successfully give herself a haircut, before abandoning the idea.

The afternoon had been spent in friendly banter and laughter. Eamon as was good as his word – he was a very patient teacher, teasing Sarah lightly when she felt awkward or unskilled, encouraging her to try again. She could now clumsily saddle and bridle a horse, as well as mount it herself, even if she did still feel as though she was climbing a mountain. Eamon had held the reins for her and led her around the courtyard, and when she felt a little steadier on Derry’s broad back, had relinquished them to her hands. He called instructions to her and she did her best to obey, finding that controlling a horse was not as difficult as she had first believed. Derry was solid and consistent, and quick to comply with whatever commands he was given. She had trotted a little, but found she was most comfortable with walking for the time being. Eamon had applauded her success and declared that she would soon be a fine horsewoman. She had left with the promise to seek him out again when time permitted.

Sarah’s reminiscing was interrupted when the guard in front of her halted suddenly, and she nearly ran into his back before catching herself. They had arrived at a huge set of wooden doors, stretching nearly to the ceiling. One stood half open, and the guard grasped the elaborate doorknob and opened it fully, indicating that Sarah was to enter. Feeling a little trepidation now, she took a deep breath and stepped through the entrance.

The room was large and high-ceilinged, with tall windows opening from ground level to almost reach the roof. Multiple candelabras suspended by long chains from the exposed wooden beams lit the room with a warm glow from their beeswax candles. One wall was covered in a large tapestry, which showed the Labyrinth in the center, surrounded by other scenes that Sarah could not quite make out. In the center of the room was a long wooden table, topped with what appeared to be marble. Seated at one end of the table were Jareth and Gwyneth, and Sarah suddenly realized she had been standing there gawking. She moved quickly towards the table and curtseyed somewhat awkwardly. To her surprise Jareth actually stood and bowed slightly, before pulling out a chair for her to seat herself. Feeling slightly flustered, Sarah sat and quickly scooted the chair in towards the table before Jareth could do it for her. He sat again, nodding as he did to a manservant standing unobtrusively by a smaller side door. The man disappeared through it and Jareth turned back to his dinner guests. Sarah smiled a little hesitantly at Gwyneth, who returned it with one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Did you have a productive day, Sarah?” Jareth knew more or less what she had been doing all day, as those who had kept watch on her reported back to him, and was curious whether she would tell him of her own accord. He noted that her face was flushed with a healthy glow, and she seemed a little more animated than she had been when he saw her than morning. Her time in the open and the company seemed to have done her good. Ignoring the small twinge he felt in the back of his mind, Jareth smiled as charmingly as he could.

“Yes, thank you. I, uh, spent some time outdoors.” Jareth noted with interest how she evaded the subject and the way her face flushed just a little more. “I mean, I know I’m outside most of the time, so it shouldn’t be different, but I wasn’t working, and...” Jareth held up a finger to stem the flow of words. Sarah had felt herself babbling, and wondered why she felt uncomfortable mentioning the young hostler to Jareth. _It wasn’t as though it was any of his business, right_? A defensive part of her mind spoke up and she found herself agreeing. After all, he _had_ said she could do whatever she wanted.

The two sitting at the table with her glanced at each other. Both observed the emotions flashing across the girls face as though she were an open book. Gwyneth swirled the golden wine around in her glass before taking a sip. A slightly uncomfortable silence settled over the table, and Sarah felt the sharp contrast between that and the relaxed camaraderie in which she had spent her day. 

Dropping her eyes to her plate, she noticed the rather formidable amount of cutlery that greeted her on either side of it, glinting in the candlelight like some kind of bizarre armory. She’d had a vague idea of the difference between a regular fork and a salad fork, and knew her steak knife from her butter knife, but her knowledge ended somewhere after that, trailing off into a misty recollection of an etiquette book she had checked out of the library once. Not to mention she had grown rather accustomed to the goblin way of eating whilst living with the old woman, which involved only a spoon and a knife, and more often than not, her fingers. She did not think that particular mode of eating would go down very well in the hall of a King, even if he was a Goblin King.

Sarah felt the tiniest bit of panic well up inside her just as the smaller side door opened and a formation of servants bearing trays of food emerged. Quickly and efficiently they laid out steaming platters, bowls and tureens, and Sarah noticed that while the majority of the servers were human, one was a tall, thin goblin man. She was surprised, not because he was a goblin, as the food itself was very likely made by the goblin cook, Cruet. What caught her attention was just how close to human he actually looked, and how difficult he was to distinguish from the others. The goblin had the longest, most elegant fingers Sarah had ever seen, and she watched with fascination as he placed the dishes just so, adjusting and readjusting them all until he seemed satisfied with the result. The servants then bowed, all but three leaving the room. Those remaining behind took their places at the left hand of the diners, the thin goblin man standing beside Jareth. 

Sarah was just wondering whether she was supposed to do something, when her assigned serving-man began to discreetly fill her plate with a selection of delicacies. She had not seen Jareth’s discreet nod to the man. The meal itself began in silence, after Sarah’s further contemplation of the cutlery, which drew no better conclusions than the first. In the end she simply took what she thought were the most appropriate utensils and plowed ahead, not daring to look to see what the other two were using. When the silence was finally breached, it was by Gwyneth, who until now had not spoken.

“We have been discussing your... situation, Sarah.” Sarah did not like the way that sounded, as though she were a recalcitrant schoolgirl, and it was her punishment they had been talking about. She also noticed her thoughts were taking a consistently defensive tone this evening. It was difficult not to be on guard when in the same room as these two.

“It has been decided that we should both take on different aspects of your training. It would simply take up too much time if only one of us was to attend to it, and time is not a luxury that we have.” Gwyneth’s tone was nothing but businesslike and practical.  
Sarah felt heat mount into her face once more, but this time it stemmed more from the anger and indignation stirred up by Gwyneth’s comments. So they had decided it all for her, had they? It did not seem to matter that Sarah herself had practically agreed to the same thing this morning. She still felt anger building inside her. A small, practical part of her mind had detached itself and stood back, wondering exactly why she was suddenly reacting to a perfectly logical comment with such strong emotion. She told it to shut up, that she had a right to feel whatever she wanted. It retreated, muttering something about long-term stress and repressed emotions coming back to bite her on the rear. Sarah mechanically stretched her face into a smile, but her other feelings must have been showing through, as both Jareth and Gwyneth looked at her, somewhat askance.

"I... thought maybe I would have some part to play in making decisions about myself." Her jaw felt tight, and she was amazed at how quickly her peaceful, happy feelings of earlier had degenerated into this. What was wrong with her today? She saw a brief flash of amused surprise cross Jareth's face.

"Of course you may decide, as it is your right. However, as we discussed earlier, there is really only Gwyneth or myself who is capable of taking your training, Sarah. I did not think that particular fact was a decision, more a reality." With that sentence, he had neatly pulled her argument out from under her.

"Well... fine." She turned her attention to her plate now and stabbed viciously at her food, embarrassed and angry at how she had let herself react. Jareth watched her for a moment, and decided it was time to defuse the situation.

“Sarah.” Jareth’s voice was low and soothing, and was enough to cause Sarah to lift her head a little and look at him. He did not appear to be amused now, but earnest. “We only came to that conclusion because we did not think there could have been any other. It was not intended to undermine your wishes.” To her horror, Sarah felt her eyes begin to burn with threatening tears. She blinked quickly, trying to rub them away without it being obvious. She must have been in a sorry state indeed if a few kind words were all it took to set her off. At least, she thought they sounded kind, as who knew what these folk were really thinking. Sarah nodded slightly and fixed her eyes on her plate, using her fork to move around the food. It really did look delicious, and as the appetizing smell began to reach her nose, she decided it would do her no good to go hungry. After her experience of being genuinely starved several times, she did not turn down food when it was given to her. Jareth and his cousin followed suit after a moment, and nothing more was said for a while.

Halfway through the third course, which consisted of a small kind of fowl roasted and glazed, and surrounded by half caramelized roasted vegetables and garlic that was soft and sweet, the main doors opened and in strode one of the guards. He leaned down and whispered something in the King’s ear, at which Jareth nodded. The guard turned on his heel swiftly and left the room. After a moment, a tall, slender, dark haired Fae man entered, dressed like Sarah was in Jareth’s house colours. His eyes flicked over the table as he approached, and Jareth did not miss the slight tightening of his lips as he observed Sarah seated there. There was no evidence of displeasure left on his face by the time he reached the head of the table and bowed crisply to his King and the Lady. Jareth stood, meeting Cuinn’s eyes with a look that brooked no questioning.

“You had a safe journey, then?”

Cuinn nodded once. “Yes, your Majesty. It was uneventful. I trust things here are in order?” He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the unknown human woman dining with the King and his cousin. Jareth could almost hear Cuinn’s brain shouting questions and fought the urge to smile.

“And the party left safely also?” He looked at Cuinn, pointedly not mentioning names.

“They were preparing to leave the morning after. I followed you almost immediately on horseback. I would not imagine they would be more than a day behind me.” Cuinn kept his voice low, but Sarah could still hear what was being said. She wondered who it was that was coming, and had a feeling that the “things” to be put in order included Sarah herself. After all, Jareth had been summoned from the Summer Palace rather in a hurry because of her. She wondered for the first time whether he had perhaps transgressed some law by leaving the High King’s court in such a hurry. The possibility had not occurred to her before, and she was a little ashamed at how she was acting. Sarah felt she had been behaving rather like a spoilt child, and was reminded uncomfortably of her actions the first time she had run Jareth’s Labyrinth.

“Very well, Cuinn, you may retire.” Cuinn nodded thanks at his words. Nearly two whole days spent in the saddle riding at flat-strap had left him exhausted.

“Until morning, your Majesty.” Without looking towards Sarah, he bowed once more to Gwyneth and turned on his heel, walking quickly from the room. Sarah guessed that this was the Cuinn she had heard so much about while living in the city – all knew of the King’s closest advisor, his steady right hand. Sarah had not been able to read a single emotion on the man’s face. Wanting to break the silence that followed his departure, Sarah tried asking a question.

“Who is coming here?” An innocent enough question, she had thought. She had no idea that a simple question could provoke such a response in Jareth. Sarah watched in fascination as a wave of colour slowly swept up Jareth’s face, looking distinctly out of place on this elegant Fae. It took a moment for her to realize that he was actually blushing. He was suddenly unable to meet Sarah’s eyes, and looked everywhere but at her. She was mystified by the sudden chance in his attitude, although a small part of her mind was smugly satisfied at whatever had turned the tables. She was tired of being the only one to blush. When Jareth spoke, however, his voice betrayed none of the feelings that had crossed his face.

“An old friend of mine and her companion will be paying us a visit.” Jareth forced his face to relax into a neutral expression while he spoke, and made himself look Sarah in the eyes. He had not been prepared for her question, expecting her to stay in her sullen silence, and it had totally caught him off guard. Perhaps it would be best to break the news to her before her brother actually arrived, as delaying it may make her reaction worse. The servants were beginning to gather the plates, replacing them with bowls, ready for the dessert course. The door leading to the kitchen was opened and a fourth servant entered, rolling a cart before him. As he reached the table and lifted the lid on the large silver dish, Sarah caught a whiff of sugar, wine and vanilla. Feeling a little full from the previous dishes, even though she had only eaten a small part of each, she nonetheless felt her mouth watering. Some kind of stewed fruit was served into her bowl, followed by a ladle of thick yellow cream. Sarah wondered how on earth Jareth managed to stay so lean if this was how he usually ate.

"Sarah," Jareth began, and Sarah paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. Imagining the sticky sugar and fruit being flung at himself, he changed his tactic midway. "If you would care to meet me in my chambers once we have finished eating, there is a matter I need to discuss further with you." Both of Gwyneth's eyebrows shot upwards at this comment, and Jareth wondered if he should not have chosen a more discreet location, such as the library. Ah well, no matter. Jareth watched as Sarah slowly replaced her spoon in her bowl, her face unreadable for once.

"All... all right." Sarah felt her stomach churn in nervousness. Why would he ask her back to his chambers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I probably wrote this chapter while I was hungry.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The waiting begins!

Jareth opened the door to his quarters without acknowledging the guards posted beside it. He strode through and with a flick of his fingers, lit half a dozen candlesticks that were positioned evenly around the room. Sarah followed after him, her stomach roiling with nervousness. She wished he had not asked her to come so soon after eating, as she now felt that she needed time to calm her stomach. Neither had spoken a word on the walk to his chambers. One of the wide windows had been left open, and a cool breeze was beginning to blow through it, bringing with it a distant smell of rain. Sarah had not noticed any clouds gathering in the sky earlier. Jareth walked straight to his desk and sat down behind it, before noticing Sarah still standing awkwardly in the doorway. He jumped up just as quickly, looking around the room for a moment before pulling a wooden chair towards his own, padded armchair. He stood looking at them, before seeming to make a decision and seating himself on the wooden chair.

Indicating that Sarah should take the armchair, he settled back as she walked slowly over towards it and seated herself. It was not lost on her that this was obviously Jareth’s chair, and for some incomprehensible reason he had surrendered it to her. Jareth leaned back in the chair, before suddenly leaning forward, elbows resting on knees. It occurred to Sarah suddenly that he seemed nervous, and this change in behaviour was enough to set her on edge also. She had not imagined that he could actually be nervous.  
“Sarah,” Jareth began, and paused immediately, looking at her with his head tilted to the side. He stood again, and began to pace back and forth in the space between them. “How many years have you been in the Underground?” Sarah was surprised by the question, but saw no reason not to answer.

“Just over three years.” She did not know whether to call him Jareth or Your Majesty, and so used neither.

“So that would make you twenty-one years of age, would it?” Sarah was again slightly mystified with the direction of his questions, but nodded. Surely he did not need her to help him work out her age. And why was this important? Jareth sat again, leaning forward in the chair.

“Sarah, there is something that you must know.” As if on cue, a low rumble of thunder sounded through the open window, bringing with it a fresh gust of storm-scented air. “Ah, some days ago now, I received a Call, a summons. From the Above, your world.” Sarah was unsure exactly what Jareth was getting at, and it must have shown on her face.

“A call, like the one you made to me. Except, not like it. What I mean to say is...” he rubbed his forehead with long fingers, looking down at the floor. Without meeting Sarah’s eyes, he said “...it was your brother.”

“Toby?” At her tone of voice, Jareth raised his head again. Sarah’s eyes were lit up, and there was a curious mixture of shock and joy intermingled on her face. “You saw him? Did you speak to him? Is he all right?” Her eyes became wet with tears as she spoke.

“Yes, I did speak to him. He seemed in excellent health. He, ah, asked after you.” Jareth watched Sarah’s face freeze.

“He did what? Why would he do that?” Another rumble of thunder sounded, seeming closer than before. It would seem a late summer storm would soon be upon them.

“He seemed to think that you were here, with me. That I had taken you Underground again.” Jareth was not enjoying the uncomfortable feeling that this interview was stirring within him. He was used to being unquestioned and in the right, as his position benefited him. “I was not aware of your presence here at the time, and assumed that you had either gone missing or died.” Sarah nodded slowly. So he really had not been watching her, as she had first imagined.

“Toby seemed distraught that I could not give him the answer he had been hoping for. To comfort him, I, ah, decided to grant him a wish.” Sarah was beginning to see where this was headed. “I brought him back, Sarah, to the Underground.” He said in a rush.

“Toby’s here? Where?” Sarah stood and shoved the heavy chair backwards, ready to run in whichever direction Jareth pointed her. 

Here! He was here! 

She did not know whether to laugh or cry or reach across and throttle Jareth. She settled instead for launching herself at him, not really thinking about what she was doing, just needing some way to express her emotions. Jareth, who had stood after Sarah had, found himself with a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, attached to a trembling woman. It was certainly not the first time he had found himself in such a position, but never under such circumstances. After a moments hesitation, he was about to fold his arms around her, when she suddenly tore herself away as quickly as she had flung herself at him. A small part of him protested at the departure. Sarah’s face was red, but she was smiling.

“Where is he?” Sarah’s voice was trembling with excitement. Jareth paused for a moment, unsure how to answer. Sarah’s smile began to fade at the delay, and he spoke quickly to reassure her.

“I was in the Summer Palace when he summoned me, and that is where I brought him. However, he is on his way here as we speak.” A white blaze of lightning flashed outside the uncovered windows, and a loud boom followed almost immediately after.

“The visitor? It was Toby?”

“Yes. He is traveling with an old friend of mine, who offered to give him safe passage when I had to leave suddenly.” It suddenly occurred to Jareth that Caoilainn was going to be very intrigued by the presence of Sarah, and he would have to do some explaining when she arrived. For now, he was pleased with the way Sarah had reacted. She had not responded in anger or lashed out at him as he had expected, and in fact seemed to be rather happy.

Sarah sat back down and felt herself shaking with anticipation. Toby was here! She would get to see her dear brother, after all these years of being apart. It did not matter to her how he had arrived; only that he was nearby, and she would see him soon. Lightning flashed again, and a heavy rain began to fall, splattering in fat drops against the windows and hissing on the tiled roof.

“Your adviser, did he say they would be here tomorrow?”

Jareth nodded. “Cuinn believes they will arrive then, yes.” Sarah’s hands were clasped in front of her, and Jareth could see her eyes growing shiny with tears again. 

Jareth smiled benevolently, feeling that it had gone as well as it could have, and rather pleased with himself. He was rewarded with a brilliant smile, and felt just a little smug as he stood and crossed the room to close the open window, which was now letting the rain in. He seated himself across from Sarah again, who although smiling, was now crying in earnest; using a dirty piece of cloth she had pulled from her pocket to wipe her eyes. Jareth pulled his own impeccable handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, feeling generous. She gave him a watery smile and tucked the rag back into her pocket, taking his instead.

Inspecting it briefly, she almost expected it to be monogrammed, but it was simply a square of fine white linen, hemmed at the edges. Burying her face in it to wipe away her tears, Sarah suddenly remembered that she had thrown her arms around the Goblin King in a fit of happiness. Thankful that her face was hidden from him, she squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. Jareth had not pushed her away or punished her, so she assumed that he had overlooked what must have certainly been a breach of etiquette. She had a brief memory of how he had felt; lean and muscular, like marble clothed in flesh, and her face flushed again, but for a different reason.

Although she became more accustomed to his presence the longer she spent in it, the contact had still been quite strange. For such a long time she had imagined what touching him might be like, particularly after returning to the world Above the first time. Even though she had tried her best to forget him and everything that had happened, he had been the object of many of her dreams. Forcing herself to breathe normally, she looked back up at Jareth. Nothing mattered now, because Toby was coming here. A piece of her life left behind, someone who knew and loved her.

“Perhaps it is time to rest now, Sarah.” Jareth saw that she had gained control over herself again, and thought he had better end the interview now, while things were on a positive note. Sarah nodded at this and stood.

“You will tell me when they’re here?”

“Of course, Sarah.” Jareth sounded amused. Sarah impulsively put out her hand to shake his. Unknowingly mirroring Eamon’s gesture earlier that day, Jareth took it and bowed over it, although there was no mockery in the gesture that Sarah could detect. Before releasing her hand he raised it to his mouth, and with a touch so light it could have been imagined, brushed his lips over the back of it. The contact sent a shock through Sarah, and she jumped, trying to pull away. Jareth’s grip was strong, however, and he held it a second longer before releasing her. Sarah pulled her hand back towards her chest, and without thinking, thrust the hand that held the handkerchief towards him. He smiled and shook his head.

“Keep it.” Before he could touch her again, Sarah turned and half ran from the room, just as the rain began to pour down harder.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Seated on the edge of her bed and listening to the rain pound on her wooden roof, Sarah looked at the two squares of cloth spread out before her. One was rough and unhemmed, ambiguously stained, the homespun linen rough under her fingers. The other was fine and white, woven carefully with a smooth texture, almost silky. Although both had served the same purpose, they were very different. Crumpling them both up into her hands, she shoved them underneath her pillow, before standing to unlace her dress and pull it over her head. Draping it over the end of her bed, she crawled under the blankets, her mind repeating the mantra, Tomorrow, tomorrow, Toby will be here tomorrow. The rain lulled her to sleep.  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Awake at dawn and out in the rain-washed garden, Sarah felt as though every muscle in her body was humming with excitement. She pulled weeds with gusto, making certain not to get too much mud on her dress (she had remembered to wear a gardening apron today), and hummed to herself as she worked. Although the clouds had not dissipated, and the air was heavy with humidity, nothing could dampen her enthusiasm. All night she had dreamed of Toby and her family, remembering things they had done together, good and bad. Oh, when would he arrive?

Noon came and passed without event. Sarah, who had missed breakfast that morning, decided to venture down to the kitchens for a midday meal. Cruet welcomed her with a glad cry and, surprisingly, a hug. He barely came up to her chin, and was all angles and knobs, rather like being embraced by a branch. She could see the top of his wild, tangled hair, and decided to herself that it really did look like a bird had nested in there once. Knowing the strange ways of goblins, she certainly would not be surprised. Fussing over her like she was a baby, he propelled her to a long bench and made her sit, insisting on serving her himself. He bellowed orders to the other cooks and fired questions at Sarah, all the while spooning food onto a number of plates for her.

“His Majesty is lucky he let you out o’ that cell, little sprout. Did he hurt you? What have ye been doing the last day? Did ye give the King what for?” Sarah grinned. She had never been happier to be questioned before.

“It was a… misunderstanding, Cruet. And no, he didn’t hurt me.”

Cruet stopped suddenly and peered at Sarah. “You look uncommonly bright eyed today, missy. Have ye got something that needs telling to old Cruet?” He winked a tiny black eye at her, touching his nose with one finger. Sarah looked at him blankly for a moment before she realized what he might have been implying.

“Oh! No, it’s nothing, I’m just happy because my brother is, um, coming to visit! I haven’t seen him for a very long time, and I heard yesterday that he is coming here.”

“A brother, eh? Now ye never really talked about any family before. I was wonderin’ what the story might be there.” Cruet put a plate of food down before Sarah and sat down beside her on the bench, wiping his spindly hands on his apron, looking as though he was ready for a good tale.

“A story? Well, my brother is the only family I have in… this place.” Cruet was watching her with keen eyes as she stumbled through her words. Although she was fond of the cook, she also knew of his weakness for gossip, and did not want to give everything away. To hide her awkwardness, Sarah began to eat.

“Are ye not one of His Majesty’s children, then?”

Inhaling sharply, Sarah choked on a piece of food that lodged itself in her windpipe. Eyes streaming and coughing furiously, she dropped her spoon with a clatter, hands going to her throat. Cruet thumped her once or twice between the shoulder blades, which seemed to do the trick, and she was again able to breathe freely. She reached in her pocket for a handkerchief before realizing that she had left both of them behind in her room. Cruet offered her the stained corner of his apron with a grin and she wiped her eyes.

“No, I’m not.” Her voice was raspy now, and she coughed once or twice more. Her comment caused Cruet to look at her with new curiosity. “I came… well, that is, I was…” She looked helplessly at Cruet, not able to tell him. “I can’t say, Cruet. I mean, I shouldn’t.” His eyes narrowed a little, and he looked at her seriously.

“Do ye need protection from somethin’, sprout? His Majesty, perhaps?”

“No, no! It’s nothing like that. At least, I think so. I’m all right, Cruet. I’ll be fine.” She summoned up a smile which must have been less than convincing, but he relented, patting her on the hand and standing once more. The look in his eyes meant trouble for anyone who would hurt her. Sarah felt a rush of gratitude – she had thought that there was no-one here who really cared about her, but it seemed she had an ally in this funny little man. And Eamon, her mind prompted, he was friendly to you as well. Sarah turned back to her food quickly so that the cook would not see the quick flush staining her cheeks, and began to eat again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Evening had fallen, and a light but consistent rain was soaking into the ground. Sarah sat in her little cabin, both lanterns lit, staring out into the darkness. 

There was still no word from Toby. 

She had summoned the courage to ask Gwyneth, who had been brewing something smelly in the workshop after Sarah’s return from lunch, but to no avail. The lady had not heard any news either. She considered going to Jareth himself to ask, but realized that protocol probably would not allow her to simply waltz into his throne room. Besides, she did not quite know where the room was, anyway. So she returned to work, with slightly less enthusiasm than before, but still anticipating Toby’s arrival. The rain did not begin again until later in the afternoon, but was so light initially that she continued working through it. By the time the gloom settled over the land, it was a little heavier. Sarah made her way to the workshop once more, and although Gwyneth was not present, there was a tray of food there for her. Thankful to whoever had been considerate enough to think about her, she ate alone.

As she walked through the rain and back to her cabin in full darkness, she tried not to think of Toby on horseback out in the rain, and was sure they would have found shelter for the night by now. Perhaps that was why they were delayed; maybe the rain was falling heavier where they were. The high state of excitement she had been in for most of the day had left her feeling drained, and now she sat, nothing to do, looking out at the rain. Sarah would have been thankful for almost any task to take her mind off the waiting, but the workshop was already spotless, and she certainly could not work outside in the dark. The thought of cleaning the little shed did not really appeal to her, as she still had not discovered who the perpetrator of destruction was. However, it was certainly better than sitting here doing nothing at all.

The door was slightly ajar when Sarah approached, and she was thankful for the lantern that was held in one hand. Feeling a sudden apprehension, she paused with her hand on the latch before pushing it open fully and walking in, lantern held high. The same mess she had left earlier greeted her eyes, nothing more. She set the lantern down on a benchtop and looked about, wondering where to start. If only she had metal barrels or drums to store her fertilizer in, she was sure it would prevent as much damage from being done.

Metal, or at least metals that contained iron, seemed to be used sparsely here, with many of the utensils made from other materials, such as silver and stone. Gwyneth used bronze and earthenware pots in her work, and some of her knives were finely honed stoneware. Sarah wondered if the fairytale that spoke of iron being poisonous to the Fae was perhaps partly true. It was certainly kept to a minimum as far as she could see. She had not been able to inspect any weapons to see what they were made of, but now that she thought about it, they had a peculiar silvery grey sheen that was unlike any she had seen. Perhaps it was not so much that iron was poisonous, but perhaps it was not available in this land. It was something she would ask Cruet next time she saw him. She did not know very much about minerals or mining or even exactly how such metals were forged.

Suddenly a swift movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. In the shadows by the wall, a tiny figure darted behind an old flowerpot. Sarah thought she may have been seeing things for a moment, but no, there it was again – a tiny, sharp-nosed face peering out, tiny eyes sparkling in the lamplight. Before it could duck out of sight again, Sarah lunged forward and grabbed for the little figure. She felt her fingers close around it, and lifted it into the light. No taller than her hand, it wriggled and fought to get free, and Sarah tightened her grip around its waist. Mindful of sharp teeth, she looked closer. It looked a little like the fairies in her garden, small and feminine in appearance, but skin a deep shade of brown. Tiny green eyes were surprisingly bright, and the creature had no wings that she could see, but oddly enough, it had two waving antennae atop its head. Its hair was short and black, and Sarah could see sharp little white teeth in its mouth as it spat and hissed at her.

“Ah hah. So it’s you that has been tearing apart my hard work, hm?” She shook it a little, and the creature screeched loudly. “Now see here, I’ll be watching for you now, you little monster. If I catch you again, it’ll be the same fate as for the garden fairies, you see?” The tiny being twisted and squirmed, managing to sink its pointed teeth into the fleshy part of Sarah’s hand, between her thumb and forefinger. With a yell of surprise she nearly released her grip, but after a second she recovered and squeezed tighter. She felt a flash of anger boil up inside her, like a thin current of heat, and before she knew what was happening, a thin tendril of green fire snaked around her arm and over her wrist. In a split second it had wrapped itself around the tiny creature’s neck and disappeared, as it went limp and still in her hand. Sarah stared in shock for a moment, her stomach lurching, before opening her hand and dropping the little thing onto the ground. It did not move, not a twitch or shudder. Without stopping to pick up her lantern, Sarah turned and fled back out into the night.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah just needs a hug. Lots of hugs, really.

The rain was growing heavier now, a muted roar floating down from the high ceilings in the library. Jareth sat on the edge of his chair, staring blankly at the wall ahead of him. After a few moments he seemed to come back to himself, and shook his head as though clearing it. Still nothing. He had been trying to communicate with Caoilainn for the last few hours; nothing had met his calls but deafening silence. He had been trying to ignore the feeling of apprehension that was slowly growing in his gut, but after this last attempt, he could not deny it any longer. Something was amiss, and he did not know what it could be. He had never been unable to reach Caoilainn before, even if she was several days journey away. Forcing himself to breathe slowly and evenly, Jareth sank back into his chair, absently rubbing his temples with both hands. The effort he was expending to make this call was more than he would usually have put out, as he was trying to Search for them at the same time.

He tried to empty his mind of any distractions, think about nothing, emptiness, a blank void… he growled in frustration as the nagging frustrations returned to circle around inside his mind. Something was wrong, and he needed to know what it was. Lady Caoilainn was very well known as a powerful figure, there would not be many who would challenge or best her, which was why he had trusted Toby into her care. Toby. Sarah! He almost regretted telling her that her brother was Underground and coming here, as now it seemed something had gone awry. Unbidden, the memory of her arms around him resurfaced, brief though the moment had been. Certainly, Jareth had been in far more… intimate circumstances before, but there was something different about it, something sincere. She had reacted without thinking, showing her gratitude to him in a way that held no pretence, no forethought, and expecting nothing in return. Everyone, he felt sometimes, wanted something from him. Some wanted power, some pleasure, some favours, but there were few he could say that truly expected nothing from him.

It was Sarah’s artless nature that had attracted him to her, long ago. He had almost forgotten how open she could be, how honest with her feelings, whether good or bad. She had been spontaneous with her affection and trust when it came to the creatures who had accompanied her on her journey, even when one of them chose to repeatedly betray her. It was a quality that Jareth had never nurtured in himself, as it would be seen as a sign of weakness to those around him. There had been those who had challenged his position in the past – admittedly, it was usually those who had little idea of what and who they actually faced. And there had been those who had died as a consequence of such challenges.

Little, innocent Sarah… who was now a woman, back in the Underground, back in his domain. Standing, Jareth walked towards the door, swinging it open. As he was about to step out into the hallway, there was movement to his left. It was late, and he had not thought that there would be many servants left working at this hour. As the figure stepped into the light, Jareth recognized Sarah, white-faced and wide eyed, wandering slowly down the corridor. She had not noticed him, and he decided to wait for her to reach him, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms casually. She had almost walked straight past him when he spoke.

“Sarah.” She jumped, and Jareth suspected she had not really been seeing where she was going. Looking closely at her face, he could see fear and horror written in her eyes, and felt concern stirring.

“What is it, Sarah? What happened?” She stared blankly at him, mouth moving, but nothing coming out. Jareth gripped her arms and gave her a little shake, which seemed to bring her out of her stupor. She blinked several times, and looked down to where Jareth was holding onto her, as though she only now noticed the contact. Jareth did not let go, although he did lessen his grip somewhat.

“I… I killed it.” Her voice sounded far away. “I thought about it, and it happened.”

“What did you kill, Sarah?” Jareth spoke deliberately, as though she was a child.

“The little… thing. In the shed. It bit me…” her voice trailed off.

“Where did it bite you?”

She lifted one hand and Jareth took it in his, turning it over to inspect. He saw the angry red welt between her thumb and forefinger, and sent a tiny trace of magic to test it. Whatever had bitten her was not venomous, and he suspected it might have been a boggart. A little like brownies, but with the opposite intent – instead of helping keep a place clean, they tended to wreak havoc. They were spiteful and mean, and enjoyed destruction. There were none within the castle itself, but as Sarah’s living space was actually outside, she would not have been protected. Jareth released her hand, but she gripped his instead, looking at him now with panic in her eyes.

“I was angry at it, and it died. I didn’t mean to kill it! What have I done?” Jareth was beginning to understand what she was talking about. Sarah’s magic must have asserted itself in response to her feelings, reacting instinctively. Her grip on his hand was shaky, and Jareth decided that she needed to sit down. Tugging her by the hand, he led her back into the library, and sat her down on one of the couches. He sat down next to her, able to, but not really willing to disengage her hand from his.

“Sarah, look at me.” She did so, seeming to actually see him for the first time. “This is why I am insisting that we teach you how to control and use your magic.” Tears began to leak from her eyes as he spoke. “Be thankful it was only a boggart this time. Magic can be dangerous, it can be used to take life, as well as give it. This is the first lesson you must learn, Sarah.” 

Sarah was crying in earnest now.

“I don’t want it then. Take it out! I didn’t ask for it! I don’t want magic if it can do this too!” She had squeezed her eyes shut and was shaking her head as she spoke. Jareth put one finger under her chin and gently but firmly lifted her head. The rain was still falling heavily on the roof, although the noise did not really register in his mind.

“It cannot be taken away now, Sarah. All you can do is learn how to manage it.” She opened her eyes, shocked to see his face so close to hers. Jareth followed her eyes as they flicked down to his mouth, and his thoughts followed closely behind. Although the position he found himself in was certainly tempting, it was neither the time nor place for it. He let go of her chin and leaned back, certain that he now had her attention. “It is late, Sarah, and you should be asleep. Tomorrow, I will begin your training.” It was more important now than it had been before, and to begin with such a lesson fresh in Sarah’s mind would ensure her full cooperation.

“I don’t want to go back out there. What if it’s still there? I don’t want to see it.” Sarah’s voice sounded small, like a child who has wakened from a nightmare and did not want to be sent back to bed.

“Well, you certainly cannot stay here. You may take my word that this couch can be very uncomfortable to sleep on.” Amusement coloured his voice, and a small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. A tiny answering smile appeared slowly on her face, and she nodded. She sniffed once or twice and tried to wipe her face, before realizing that she was still holding onto Jareth’s hand. Letting go in a hurry, she tried to cover her embarrassment by standing quickly and smoothing her dress. Jareth stood also, although slower, to give her time to recover her dignity.

“There are guest quarters you may sleep in, if you wish. Come, I will summon someone to take you there.”

“No! I mean, I don’t want to wake anyone…if you would tell me where to go…” Jareth raised one eyebrow.

“Very well. I shall direct you there myself.” He put one hand under her elbow and began to walk in the direction of the guest rooms before she could protest. The occasional sniffle was all that marked the journey, although Jareth felt the silence was not as strained as it had been the night before. The reached the door without encountering anyone, and he opened it for her politely, lighting a candle inside with a finger-flick, and glancing around quickly to make sure everything was in order. It was simply but elegantly furnished, although not overly large.

“Until morning, then.” He bowed slightly, and was turning to leave, when Sarah touched his arm to stop him.

“Um, thank you… Jareth.” When her use of his name did not seem to make him angry, she continued. “For being there… and not making me feel stupid.” She forced herself to look him in the eyes as she spoke. “Goodnight.” She backed into the room and closed the door.

“Goodnight, Sarah.” He murmured, and stood in the hallway for a few moments, looking at the closed door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Reflected morning light filtered slowly into the room, and the faint sound of birdsong wove its way through the slightly open window to Sarah’s waking ears. She stretched slowly, not opening her eyes, cocooned in warmth and softness. She had slept deeply and with no dreams, and although rested, was still feeling lazy. Bed had not felt so good in a long, long time. She lay a moment longer, savouring the feeling of perfect comfort, before opening her eyes. Sandy coloured stone met her eyes, and she stared in confusion for a moment before remembering where she was. With that also came recollection of the previous night, and all that had occurred. After leaving the garden shed, she had wandered the castle for a while, not quite knowing where she was going, but not wanting to go back outside. 

Then Jareth had found her – or she had found him. And to her surprise, he had not been mean, or condescending, or even angry. In fact he had almost seemed... concerned. Sarah’s encounters with Jareth thus far had been varied, and every time a new facet of his personality was revealed she had been forced to reassess her opinion of him. Again, this was an unfamiliar side of the Goblin King that she had never seen before. Sarah felt a little sick in her stomach remembering what had caused her to wander the castle the night before, and tried not to think about it. She flung back the covers and crawled to the edge of the bed, which after her narrow cot, felt like a vast expanse of feathers and linen. Swinging her feet over the edge, she looked out of the window directly in front of her.  
The room faced west, and so there was no direct sunlight shining through, but by the shadows that were cast in the courtyard she guessed it was not long after dawn. 

Sarah slid off the bed and walked barefoot over to the window, swinging it open fully and leaning out. It would seem that she was in a second storey room, almost directly above the main doors. She could see the gates, and the stables, as well as the stone fountain in the center of the courtyard. People were moving around, completing the morning’s tasks, and Sarah watched them for a moment, before a tall, thin, dark-haired figure leading a horse caught her eye. She thought it might be Eamon, and this was confirmed as he turned around to laugh at something said to him by another hostler. He then turned his head, and for a moment Sarah felt as though he was looking directly at her. Her heart gave a strange little jerk and she jumped back from the window quickly, not wanting to be seen leaning out half dressed. Not having a nightgown, she had been sleeping only in her shift and undergarments. 

Crossing the room, Sarah saw a low wooden stand against the wall, topped with an elegant silver ewer and bowl, and with several thick white towels piled next to it. Pouring water into the bowl, she splashed her face, drying it with a towel. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers for a moment, savouring the softness and inhaling the faint scent of rose geranium leaves. The bedlinen was also of a fine weave, soft and satiny under her hands, and Sarah sighed a little. It was not something she would have paid attention to in the past, whether her mass produced, machine-made linens were soft or well made. Here, however, she was much more aware of the effort it took to make such items, and how much of a sign of wealth they were. Again her mind went back to the two pieces of cloth stowed underneath her pillow, given to her by two very different men. She allowed herself to compare them for a moment in her mind – Eamon, open and friendly, comfortingly human, safe – Jareth, disturbingly alien, dangerously beautiful, and exhilarating. 

Sarah shook her head. _What am I thinking? It doesn’t matter what either of them are like_. 

She splashed her face again and scrubbed it roughly, and pushed her hair back out of her face. Fishing into her clothes that hung over the end of the bed, she pulled out a thin piece of leather and quickly plaited her hair over one shoulder, tying it hastily. Pulling her dress over her head and tying the laces, she stooped down, slipping on her shoes. Feeling a little more grounded, she moved towards the window, not glancing out at all before swinging it closed. A sense of politeness, or perhaps obligation, had her making the bed before she left the room, and she finally allowed a little bubble of excitement to burst inside her. Today could be the day that Toby arrives! Smoothing the covers quickly, Sarah left the room, first looking down the hall to see if anyone was there to notice, before closing the door gently behind her. She needed to go and get some answers.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

“Something has gone wrong, Cousin.” Jareth was seated atop a stool in Gwyneth’s workshop, watching while she ground dried roots into powder. He ground his teeth in frustration. “I feel it. Any attempt to reach them is met with utter silence.” Gwyneth continued to work, her face void of any expression.

“Damn it!” The Goblin King slammed his fist onto the tabletop, knocking over and shattering a glass vial. Gwyneth raised an eyebrow at this outburst, but Jareth did not see it. He had risen from his seat and began to pace back and forth, swatting at a low hanging bunch of herbs every now and then. If not for the seriousness of the situation, Gwyneth would have almost smiled. 

Cuinn stood in the doorway, hidden in shadow. He had not approved of this situation from the beginning, a feeling which had been compounded when he walked into the King’s dining room two nights ago and found him eating with the very person who had almost caused the utter destruction of everything around them. The sight had caused a hundred questions to burn in his brain, but one look from his King had silenced his unspoken arguments. If there was one thing that Cuinn was, above all others, it was loyal. He had already served his King for two centuries, and had always trusted in his judgment. 

Only twice had he truly doubted Jareth’s actions. Firstly when he had made himself vulnerable to the human girl running the Labyrinth, and again when he brought the young human boy to the High King’s castle. The consequences of both decisions, it would seem, had now come back to roost. Cuinn could do nothing at this point but wait for the King’s plan of action. 

“I should never have brought the boy here. It was a mistake to be so indulgent.” Jareth gripped the bench top with both hands. Neither Cuinn nor Gwyneth spoke at this, either to refute or agree. 

“I will have to tell her... she will be expecting him to arrive today. And I do not even have any answers myself!” As he finished speaking, Cuinn coughed discreetly, and Jareth turned to find Sarah standing in the doorway, staring at him.

“Tell me what? What’s happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnn!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama! Snoozing! and Hijinks ensue!

Sarah’s words seemed to echo a little in the silence that followed. The four stood as a tableau, frozen for a moment until broken again by Sarah’s voice. 

“What’s happened? Why isn’t Toby here yet?” She felt her throat tightening as she spoke, noting the unsmiling faces surrounding her. When it became apparent that neither Gwyneth nor Cuinn were going to offer him any assistance, Jareth spoke.

“Sarah, we do not know that anything has happened to him. I am simply having difficulties contacting the Lady he was traveling with.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Does that happen a lot? Is it normal then?”

“... No.” Jareth hesitated before speaking again, after a quick glance around showed Gwyneth intently studying her mortar and pestle as she ground away slowly, and Cuinn grim faced. “In fact, it has never happened to me before.”

Still standing in the doorway, Sarah reached her hands to either side, steadying herself on the stone arch. A familiar feeling of dread and apprehension began to coil itself around her innards, and she closed her eyes for a moment, fingers digging slightly into the rock on either side of her. _Don’t panic_ her mind tried to instruct, but it was drowned out by the voice that was her instinct, shouting _something’s happened, Toby is in danger._

“Jareth – Your Majesty,” she quickly amended as she heard Cuinn’s hissed intake of breath, “What do...” He held up a hand abruptly. 

“Be quiet.” Sarah’s mouth fell open, and she was about to snap back at him when a glassy sphere materialized in Jareth’s outstretched hand. 

“Conall.” As he spoke, Sarah saw a face appear inside the crystal. She could not make out much detail from across the room save that the person had black hair. It opened its mouth and spoke, the voice sounding as though the person was there in the room.

“Jareth. I should not be contacting you like this, but I thought you needed to know.”

“What is it, Conall?”

“I had heard the rumor that you were sheltering a human in the Summer Palace. Really Jareth, what possessed you to do that?” Behind them, Cuinn cleared his throat meaningfully. 

“The rumor, for once, had some truth in it – what is your point?”

“You and I have always been allies, Jareth. I know I owe you... certain favours. But I had to wait until I returned to my own holdings before I contacted you. I do not fancy going up against the High King himself.”

“The Ard Righ?” Jareth’s voice sounded tight.

“It seems he caught wind of your rumor too, and was simply waiting for the opportune moment to take advantage of it - which you presented him when you left Court suddenly.” Upon hearing this, Sarah shrunk back a little into the doorway, trying to blend into the shadows around her. She could see Jareth’s back stiffen, but he did not turn around. 

“He is holding them both, Lady Caoilainn and the human child. I do not know where exactly, but I would assume they have returned with him to the Grand Palace. I did not dare contact you while I was still there, as I thought it safest to leave first.”

“You have my gratitude, Conall. I shall not forget it.” The head in the glass nodded once to him and faded out, before Jareth crushed the delicate sphere in his hand. Once again the silence was shattered by Sarah’s voice.

“The High King?” Jareth turned at this, his expression unreadable. 

“Yes, Sarah, the High King. The most powerful, and most unpredictable of us all.”

Cuinn finally spoke. “He is one of the few who are strong enough to suppress the Lady’s magic.” 

Jareth felt a sharp stab of guilt at his words. He had, after all, been the one to put her in the way of danger. It was his fault, and he must be the one to remedy it. 

“Cuinn, ready the Guard for travel. You will accompany me. Gwyneth, I place matters here into your hands.” Both nodded, Cuinn immediately turning to leave the room. Sarah moved to one side, allowing him through the door, and he nodded curtly to her. She opened her mouth to speak just as Jareth whirled around to face her. 

“No. You remain here.” 

“But... I have to come! He’s my brother, Jareth! I have to help!”

“You will only be in the way, and I will not put your life at risk as well!” A small part of her wondered at the possession in his voice, but she was not going to give in this time.

“I’m coming! I can ride, and I won’t be in the way. Toby is my responsibility!”

“No Sarah,” his voice changed again, determined, “This time he is mine.” 

Before she could reply, he had pulled the glove off his right hand and placed his palm at the base of her neck. He caught her as she began to slump, eyes rolled back into her head, and slung her limp arm around his shoulders, swinging her up into his arms. Gwyneth stood then, and opened the doors leading out into the garden, as Jareth walked past her, carrying Sarah’s limp form towards her shack. The door was standing open and he entered, laying her on her unmade bed. He pulled the blanket up to cover her, and for the first time, had a look at her surroundings. 

Everything was extremely rudimentary, and he could not help comparing it to what would have been hers if she had accepted his offer, all those years ago. She would have wanted for nothing, been surrounded in luxury, and protected. Instead, here she was, in a tiny wooden shack, living at the bottom of his garden. He turned to look at her again, and felt another stab of guilt at the way he’d had to handle Sarah, but in no way was he going to allow her to come with him. It would be suicide for her – or worse. 

Placing his hand on her neck again, he reinforced the spell that would make her sleep and forget. She mumbled, brow furrowing in her sleep, and Jareth allowed himself to smooth out the wrinkles with the tip of one still-ungloved finger, before turning to leave the room. 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Daithi was saddled and waiting as Jareth strode towards the stables, flanked by a dozen of his best Fae soldiers. He would not be so stupid as to bring his human guards to the Palace, capable fighters though they were. None of them had any magic, and that was what had kept the Grand Palace secure for millennia. Jareth was dressed from head to toe in black; the only ornamentation he wore was the silver crescent shaped pendant, a symbol of his House. The bright midday sun glinted off his horses tack, although it looked as though clear skies would not last long, with black clouds boiling up swiftly from the south. South was also the direction they were headed, where the Grand Palace lay, where most of the Court spent their winters. 

Mounting Daithi in one smooth movement, Jareth settled himself into the saddle, mentally noting to himself the location of each of the nine small daggers that were hidden about his person. Every one of them was reinforced with magical spells and swift acting poison provided by Gwyneth. Although he was also proficient in the use of the long, slender sword that was strapped to his side, it was not his preferred mode of combat. The stableboy Eamon handed him the reins with a bow, and with a quick glance around to check that all his men and Cuinn were mounted and ready, Jareth spurred Daithi towards the gates. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Dark.

It was dark and warm...

It felt like floating. Like laying on a warm current of air. 

_Stay here. It is safe and warm here._

She felt herself sigh, turn, settle.

_Yes. You are protected here._

But there was something... 

She was supposed to be doing something.

Someone... _no, there is nothing out there. You can stay safe here._

She pushed, just a little, against that which held her.

No... stay.

A feeling like someone caressing her forehead, the lightest of touches.

She pushed again, harder this time, meeting resistance that curled around like smoke, like a net.

The resistance felt tangy, effervescent, green. She pushed again.

_Do not fight it._

There was someone who needed her... she gathered herself and pushed again, feeling her own piquant, leafy energy gather and thrust against that which held her.

It gave just a little, and the voice came again, alternately cajoling and commanding.

_You should stay here. You must stay. Pain lies outside this place._

Pushing herself between the very fibers of the smoky net that held her, she pulled and stretched at it.

_No!_

The next thing Sarah felt was the floor underneath her back, driving the breath from her in a rush of air. She had thrown herself off the bed with the effort, and now lay gasping, trying to figure out what was happening. Her mind felt foggy still, and her mouth tasted furry and bitter. It felt just like the time she had a slumber party at her friend June’s house, and they had snuck a bottle of her father’s rum out to the summerhouse. Sarah did not remember much of that night, except that they giggled a lot and slept like the dead afterwards. She did remember the next morning, and the reprimand the girls got from both sets of parents. It had certainly been enough to put her off alcohol at the time. And she’d had no opportunity to drink.... in the Underground. 

Sarah sat up quickly, and with a rush, the blank spaces in her mind were filled. Toby! She was supposed to go and save him, with Jareth... she stood, and almost fell back down immediately. Her head throbbed, and waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She gripped the side of the bed and forced herself to breathe slowly, waiting for the feeling to pass. After a few moments she was able to lift her head and looked out the window. She could see the sun low through the clouds, and there was a misty rain blowing, lighting the sunset beyond the castle wall into a glowing gold and red haze. Was it the sunset of the same day? It was impossible to tell. 

Of all the devious, underhanded ways to stop her from following him... Sarah clenched her fists. How dare he stop her! He had no right to do so. She stood upright, slower this time, and moved carefully over to the bucket that held fresh water. Dipping her wooden cup into it, she swished the water around in her mouth, rinsing away the fuzzy feeling, before spitting into the slops bucket. She then drank gratefully, refilling her cup a second time until she felt her thirst beginning to abate. Dipping her hands into the water, she splashed her face several times, feeling the cobwebs clear from her brain. Her body still felt weak and shaky, almost as though she had not eaten for several days. 

Opening her little cupboard, she peered inside. Someone had left a small cob of dark bread and several apples there, and she wondered who she had to thank for that bounty. Taking the bread and an apple, she sat down on the floor and began to eat, tearing off small pieces of the bread and alternating bites of the apple. Her stomach did not take long to fill up, as it was already half full with water. Chewing on the last of the apple core, Sarah tried to think of what to do next. She had to get out of here without being seen, and was certain that if Gwyneth or anyone else should see her trying to get out, she would be stopped again. 

In the story books she had devoured as a child, the heroine had dressed as a boy and ridden her horse out in the dead of night. Sarah noted dryly that in the stories, the heroine always seemed to have easy access to a whole wardrobe of clothes to choose from. A thought occurred to her, of several days earlier, when she had ridden with Eamon. If those old breeches were still in the stables, then she could at least be comfortable riding. The question was whether it would be safer waiting for complete darkness, or slipping out in twilight, while it was still raining. Sarah stood, steadier now that she had eaten, and walked to the door, peering outside first to see if anyone was there. The garden was empty in the drenching rain, and Sarah ducked quickly over to the shed, opening the door and slipping in. 

Once there, she plucked a pair of shears off the wall, and after a moment of thought, she also took a small pruning knife. Running back to her shack, she used the last of the daylight to quickly slice a hole in the center of her blanket, pulling it over her head like a poncho. She fingered her hair, thinking. Maybe she could plait it, and tuck it out of the way? But no, if she was going to disguise herself.... regretfully, she took the shears in one hand and her hair in the other, sighing as she made the first cut. Squashing her girlish vanity, Sarah quickly chopped off her hair, letting it fall to the ground. Hair could always be re-grown, but she only had one brother, and could not waste any chance at getting to him. Grabbing the remains of the loaf and the other apples, she tucked them into a small pouch which was tied on at the waist. It was now or never.

Providence, it seemed, was with her. Gwyneth’s workshop was empty, as was her room, and Sarah got through without incident. Peering into the hall, she saw no-one, and dashed out quickly, sticking to the shadows as much as she could. Taking the shortest route possible, she only had to duck into a doorway once when she heard voices, and they passed her quickly. By the time she had reached one of the doors leading to the castle grounds, it felt like a year had passed, and was so hot under the blanket that she had sweated through her dress. Wiping her hands on the blanket, she opened the door quietly, and saw that darkness had settled almost fully over the grounds. A few torches had been lit, but large sections of the yard were still in shadow. Keeping to them, she ran towards to stables, and then ducked inside. Several lanterns lit the interior with a warm glow, and the smells of hay and horses met her nose. 

Suddenly, Sarah heard the sound of laughter, and before she could think of where to hide herself, several figures entered the stable from the far end. Eamon and two other young men entered and stared when they saw her there. Sarah stood rooted to the spot, unsure what to do.

“Sarah?” Eamon spoke, sounding shocked and a little doubtful. The two youths with him smirked to each other, and nudged him. 

“This one yours, is it?” the stocky blond sniggered, and then ducked as Eamon took a swipe at him.

“Lay off, Rory. She’s a friend of mine.”

Rory laughed again and poked his friend, a skinny young boy with very black eyes. 

“You hear that? It’s actually a girl!” the boy grinned, showing all his teeth. Sarah backed away from them, feeling the wall behind with her hands for some kind of escape. Eamon looked at her for a moment, and then turned to the others.

“Look here, you lot, why don’t you clear out? I’ll take care of this.” He winked suggestively, hoping they would take the hint and leave. To Eamon’s great relief, they did, with much sniggering and shoving each other. He turned then to find Sarah ducking into an empty stall, and moved quickly to intercept her.

“Sarah, what...?” she was pulling on the old pair of trousers that she had worn the other day, and glanced up at him furtively. 

“Don’t try to stop me, I’m going anyway!” He held out a hand, walking towards her slowly, as though she were a nervous horse. 

“I’m not stopping you, Sarah, but what are you doing?” She pulled out a little knife from under the blanket she wore, and proceeded to cut off the lower half of her dress, splitting the sides up to the waist to form a kind of tunic. Tearing a long strip from the fabric she had cut, she tied it around her head, covering her now short hair. 

“My brother, they’ve got him, and I’m going to get him back.”

“Your brother? Who has him?” 

“The High King,” at her words, the color left Eamon’s face.

“The Ard Righ? He has taken your brother? Then that must have been where his Majesty was...” Sarah interrupted him, grabbing at his arm. “You know where he went?”

“Well, yes, if he’s gone to the Ard Righ’s Palace. That was two days ago.” Two days! She had been asleep that long? Eamon covered her hand with his own. “There’s no way you can follow him, it would be instant death.” 

Sarah looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Don’t you see? I have to go to him.” Eamon sighed. He had trouble resisting those hazel eyes, wet with unshed tears. And there was no way he was letting her go alone.

“Come on then. Did you have any food to take on this grand adventure of yours?” She held out her small food pouch, and he raised an eyebrow. “I see you haven’t traveled much before. Wait here for a moment.” Sarah nodded and sat in the hay as he ducked out, and returned after a few moments with a worn pack slung over one shoulder. A rolled blanket was tied to the top of it. 

“When his Majesty catches us, it’ll be my job you know. That’s if I’m lucky and he doesn’t decide to take my head instead.” Sarah seemed to realize for the first time that he was really coming with her.

“You don’t have to come with me, Eamon. I’ll be fine on my own. Just point me in the right direction.”

“Rubbish!” he exclaimed, grabbing a bridle off the wall and heading for Derry’s stall. “What kind of gentleman would I be then, letting a pretty lady go off to her doom?” He flashed a grin before opening the stall door. Derry whickered softly as he entered, and stood still as Eamon put on his bridle. He lifted the saddle from its place on the wall and saddled him, cinching the straps tight. Handing the reins to Sarah, he entered another stall two doors down and after a moment led out a second horse, slightly taller than Derry. It was black with white socks, and a white blaze down its nose.

“Meet Ultan. He’s my mount.” Sarah reached out a hand to let him sniff her fingers, which he did briefly. Eamon had strapped his pack to his saddle, and now indicated the door. 

“Shall we, then?”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time - the Sequel.

Cold. Dark, wet, miserable. Gloomy, murky, dismal. Damp. It had only been four hours, and already Sarah was beginning to run out of adjectives. Hunched over in the saddle, her back and thighs ached, and her hands had partly frozen on the reins. The rain had begun again not long after they had set out, and what had started as a light drizzle now fell in sheets from the sky. She didn’t know how an evening which had felt warm and balmy when they set out had turned into this cold, horrid night. With no protection, Sarah’s blanket and clothing were soaked through, and she could feel icy rivulets of rain trickling down her bare neck. She was so absorbed in her own misery that she was not paying attention to what direction they rode, or whether Eamon was even still beside her. She could only hear the wet splacking of the horses’ hooves as Derry plodded along in what was now a river of mud, and the rain dripping down from the trees on either side of the road. 

The heroines in her old story books must have always traveled in the height of summer, with perfect weather, no need to find any more shelter than a covering of leaves on the forest floor, and always food in abundance. Sarah had already decided that the first magic she wanted to learn, (if she ever got out of this situation alive) was going back in time. Then she would go back and slowly murder all the writers of fairy tales before they had a chance to mislead innocent young girls. She thought of spending the night curled up in the dank, mouldy leaves that lined the path on either side of them, and shuddered. They were probably crawling with worms, bugs, and goodness knew what else. The blanket she had planned to sleep under was now clinging to her wetly, and she knew that even if she could build a fire (she had not thought to bring a fire-making kit), she would never get it dry in time to sleep on. Eamon had been riding by her side, watching her from the corner of his eye. He was hoping that she would be deterred by the poor conditions and give up this folly. One night in the forest would probably do the trick. Although he genuinely wanted to help her, he knew there was no way that she could survive the venture she was planning. 

It was nearing midnight, and Eamon noticed Sarah beginning to slump further forward in the saddle, her eyes closing. Reaching out, he grasped Derry’s reins in one hand and began to steer them towards the side of the road. Sarah seemed to rouse a little at this, and turned to look at him through the gloom, as though noticing for the first time in hours that he was there. Eamon dismounted easily, and held out a hand to Sarah, who stiffly got down from the saddle, nearly falling into a puddle as she did. Her legs were on fire, and her hands ached from gripping the reins tightly. The moon peered through a gap in the clouds for a brief moment, before being swallowed up again. The silver light had been enough to show Eamon where a gap in the trees led off into the forest. 

A large, spreading oak lay not far within the forests’ boundaries, and although the rain had penetrated the leafy canopy, it had only made the ground damp, rather than soaking. Not bothering to tie the horses, Eamon shrugged off his pack and opened it quickly, pulling out what appeared to be a package of something tightly folded. He quickly unwrapped it to reveal a large piece of oilskin, which he then spread onto the ground, after kicking away the worst of the damp leaves. Taking Sarah by the arms, he sat her down onto it, and, pulling out a second package, spread a smaller, thinner blanket over her shoulders. The moon was flickering in and out of the clouds again, and he took advantage of it to gain a better view of his surroundings. 

Quickly gathering stones to form a circle, he gathered damp sticks and leaves and piled them in the center. Sarah seemed to rouse from her misery enough to take note of what he was doing, and watched as Eamon found a large fallen branch, and broke it into smaller pieces. He then squatted down in front of the impromptu fireplace, and appeared to be fiddling with something in his fingers.

“Did you bring a fire kit?” Sarah’s voice croaked a little, and she remembered that she had not spoken since they left. “It’s too wet, you’ll...”   
Her comment was cut off by a sudden flare of orange-yellow that erupted from Eamon’s finger tips, and before she could even exclaim in surprise, the small pile of leaves was burning brightly. Quickly, Eamon added larger twigs, and then sticks, until it seemed established. Sarah recovered her voice to whisper, “You have magic? Human magic?”

In the flickering glow she could see Eamon’s grin. “That’s right, lady. Just a little, from my ma’s side, or so I’m told. Enough for little tricks like that one, and helping me get along better with our beastie friends here,” he glanced in the horses’ direction, “and other things of no consequence.”

“It’s not of no consequence if it saves us from freezing to death.” She said with some vehemence, and pulled the blanket closer to herself. 

“Indeed, lady. It made me a favourite with my house-ma, I can tell you. Also meant I got to know the kitchen stove and furnace better than most.” He winked, and stood to tend to the horses, removing their saddles and blankets and giving them a quick rub down with a piece of leather. The saddles he slung over a low hanging branch, where they would not get too wet. While he completed these tasks Sarah thought over what he had just said, but waited until he returned before speaking. 

“Is your mother... here?” She was frustrated at not being able to frame her question properly. 

“Which one? My birth ma or house-ma?” Sarah must have looked confused, so he continued, “My birth ma died not long after I was born, and it was my da that wished me away.” Sarah’s mouth fell open at this. He knew? He knew that he had been taken away to the Underground? It was another factor that Sarah had never thought about – whether the children who were not born here were told where they came from. 

“You mean, you know? How?” Eamon looked a little confused at her question. 

“It is no secret. Everyone knows that His Majesty would freely tell you if you asked...” he looked at her curiously. “You really aren’t from this part of the kingdom, are you?”

Sarah tried to laugh off his question. “It doesn’t matter, does it? But why did your father wish you away?”

“He was a poor man, a farmer who worked hard under the watchful eye of the local lord. When my ma died, he had to spend more time looking after me than he could spend farming. He was getting behind in rent, and the lord was threatening to evict him, when he did it. I don’t blame him – poor da didn’t know what else to do.” It took a moment for the details of what he said to penetrate Sarah’s brain, which was growing fuzzier by the second. The way he spoke sounded almost like he had come from... a different time. Sarah knew there were no “lords” running farms in her day (or at least she did not think so). She peered closer at his face, noting his unlined face, dark hair free of silver, and clear eyes. 

“What is it?” Sarah jumped a little at Eamon’s voice, as she had been so focused on examining his face that she hadn’t realized it must look like she was staring. Feeling her face flame, she covered his question with one of her own.

“How old are you?”

“Me? Five-and-twenty years, soon. I was a Lá na Marbh child.” Not for the first time, Sarah wondered at the differences in time flow between this world and her home. When she had seen Toby in her dream, he appeared just the age he should be, for the amount of years that had gone by. She knew there was no way that Eamon could be the age he was if time had passed by evenly since he was taken. She remembered what Jareth had said to her on her first visit, as the Labyrinth crumbled around them;

“I have re-ordered time, I have turned the world upside down...” 

Was that what had happened, or was her theory simply true that time flowed inconsistently? For a moment she had a brief picture of herself re-entering the mortal time stream, and turning almost instantly into a bent over old woman, before crumbling into dust. Like Rip Van Winkle, waking up as an old man. She shuddered at the image, which caused Eamon to stoke the fire and add larger pieces of wood. 

“Did you bring something to eat?” the mundane question was enough to bring Sarah back to reality, and she realized how hungry she was. Fumbling at the pouch tied to her belt, she untied the swollen knot with difficulty, before tipping out a very soggy half loaf of bread, and two apples covered in crumbs. The sight of that was enough to bring tears of frustration to her eyes, and she tried with the corner of her blanket to clean the crumbs off the apples. Eamon said nothing, and reached into the bottom of his pack and pulling out a pouch shaped from rawhide. Opening it, he pulled out a flattish cake and handed it to Sarah, who left the apples and bread and took it thankfully. Biting off a small piece, she found it tasted nutty, salty and oily, and looked questioningly up at Eamon. 

“Traveling cakes,” he answered with half a mouth full, “Ground nuts, dried meat, and grains. Keeps you going forever, if you’ve got enough of them.” He glanced around while he spoke, and when his eyes came to rest on a broad leaved, dark green plant growing nearby, he pulled off several of the leaves, handing them to Sarah, before plucking several for himself. “That is, if you have greens to eat as well.” Another cheery grin and he was tucking into his meal with enthusiasm. Sarah took another bite of the cake, chewing it slowly, and feeling the warmth of the fire finally begin to penetrate through her skin and dry her clothes. 

The rain was falling sporadically now, big fat drops plopping into the puddles already formed on the ground, and dripping from the leaves of the trees. Fed and warm, Sarah found herself growing blurry around the edges, and when Eamon saw that she was having trouble keeping her eyes open, he reached over to shake her gently.

“Sarah, it’s time to rest. Here, before you fall in the fire.” He stood, helping her up as he did, and moved the groundcover slightly further away from the fire. When he seemed satisfied, he indicated that Sarah was to sit on one side, while he banked the fire to burn slowly all night. Sarah was wondering where Eamon was going to sleep when he sat down next to her. 

“Is your blanket dry now?” She nodded. “Well, you may want to use one of these for a pillow, and sleep under the other.” Sarah thought of the large hole she had torn in her own blanket, and decided to sleep under the one Eamon had given her. Eamon waited until she had seemed to settle herself, and pulled out another cover from his pack, wrapping it around him and lying down next to her. Sarah’s eyes popped open at this, and she was suddenly very awake. She looked over to Eamon, and found him staring at the branches above their heads.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only way. I only brought one ground cover.” Sarah felt the warmth beginning to climb in her face, and looked away from him. Once again, she had not thought that far ahead. 

“I can assure you, I won’t… do anything inappropriate. That is, you’ll be safe here with me.” He then turned over quickly, his back facing her. “Good night, lady.”

Eamon said nothing more, and Sarah thought after a few minutes of laying still that he must have been asleep. She, on the other hand, was wide awake, and very aware of his presence. Carefully, she rolled onto her opposite side, putting as much distance as she was able to between them. When Eamon did not move after a long time, she slowly began to relax, and after a while longer, when the glow from the fire had died down, weariness caught up with her and she slept. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Eamon lay perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, until he was certain that Sarah was asleep. Daring a look over his shoulder, he watched her shoulder fall and rise slowly. Her cropped hair had dried to fluff, and stood out in all directions. Eamon resisted the urge to reach out and touch it, instead deliberately turning his back to her and curling into a ball, waiting for sleep to come.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

After she had eaten, Gwyneth made her way from the dining room to her workshop. It was already late, and many of the torches were guttering in their sconces. Nobody walked the halls but her, and as she walked, she mulled over in her mind the problem of the human girl that lay in a deep, magic-induced sleep in her cottage. 

If Gwyneth had only known who the girl was at the beginning, when she had first arrived, she would have… and there was the rub. What would she have done? Immediately banished the girl to the Bog? Dragged her into Jareth’s throne room and cast her at his feet? Thrown her in prison? Any of these alternatives seemed somewhat appealing now, in the face of the current set of circumstances. Jareth would not have brought back the boy, particularly to the Summer Palace, and would not be in this predicament. In fact, if Jareth had not indulged the girl so much the first time she had wished away her brother and run the Labyrinth, she would not have been able to wreak so much destruction on his kingdom. Now the consequences had caught up, and Jareth was on his way to the High King’s castle, having to face a man who was both powerful and extremely dangerous. She feared for his safety, but at the same time she knew that it was his only alternative. Jareth’s magic was simply no match for the King’s, and the only way he could retrieve those who had been taken, was to go there himself. She knew also that Jareth being away from his kingdom lessened his bonds to the land, and thus to its magic. Not a great deal, but enough to make a difference if he was forced into combat. 

Gwyneth entered her workshop in darkness, and while she usually preferred the more mundane way of lighting candles, tonight she indulged herself with a flick of the wrist, lighting several. Even as a child, she had always felt as though such casual displays of magic were rather like showing off. Moving to the stove, she opened the door and looked inside, reaching for a chunk of wood with the other hand to begin building it up again. As she closed the door, she felt the slightest cold breeze blow against her face. Looking towards the glass doors, she noticed the one of them stood open a crack, just enough for a breath of wind to snake through. Immediately she strode towards the doors, snatching a lantern in one hand, and walked quickly through the garden to Sarah’s dwelling. The rain had stopped, and the moon shone through the breaks in the cloud, showing that the door to the cottage stood wide open. Knowing immediately that Sarah was gone, Gwyneth nonetheless walked inside, holding the lantern up high. 

The bed was unoccupied, the blanket gone, and scattered all over the floor were long skeins of dark hair. Gwyneth sighed, and covered her face with one hand for a moment. Stupid girl. She had no idea what she was getting herself in to. How she might have broken the spell and escaped in the first place was a question that Gwyneth could not answer. Closing her eyes, she concentrated for a moment, gathering her magic together, and cast it out in thin threads in every direction, as far as it could go, seeking the girl. She felt nothing, and after a few moments drew it back inwards, knowing that her range was not far enough to reach wherever she might have gone. If Gwyneth had been the type to curse, she would be doing it now. Ignorant, stupid girl! She would have to inform her cousin now, and thought for a moment longer, trying to come up with another alternative. 

Sighing, Gwyneth Spoke her cousin’s name, and after a heartbeat or two, saw a sphere forming in the air before her eyes. Jareth’s face appeared, and she could tell that he had been wakened from sleep. 

“Gwyneth.”

“She is gone, cousin.” Gwyneth watched as he repeated her actions of a few moments before, closing his eyes and covering his face with an ungloved hand. He gritted his teeth, and spoke without opening his eyes. 

“How long ago?”

“I am unsure. All I know is that she is already out of my searching range.”

“Damn that girl.” He spoke through his teeth. “Damn her and her stubbornness!” 

“Should I send out a search? I believe we can guess which direction she has taken.”

A humourless smile. “Yes, that at least should be obvious enough. And when you catch her, I do not care if you have to chain her to the dungeon walls, make sure she stays put!”

The globe broke as he severed the contact between them, and Gwyneth turned to walk back through the garden, triggering a magical alarm so waken the head of the palace Guards as she did so.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As his cousin’s face disappeared, Jareth, still sitting up in his bedroll, closed his eyes and began to focus within himself. Finding the bright green of magic in his internal sight to be comforting, he gathered it closely, and began to focus on Sarah. He imagined her in minute detail, from the tiny gold specks in her eyes to the way she chewed only on her thumbnails, until he had a complete picture in his mind. Once he had built it up completely, he sent out a single thread of magic, which sought the person who was being visualized. Jareth’s method of searching was much more specific than Gwyneth’s, as he knew now approximately where she would be. 

After several minutes of feeling his magic uncoil from within him, searching ever further, he felt her. Faintly, but coming closer with every second, the thread advanced until it was so close he could almost smell her. Jareth fully intended to pin her to the spot, unmoving, until his guards found her. Just as he gathered his magic to cast the spell, he felt someone else. Because his search had been specifically tuned to Sarah, it had ignored anyone who did not match her description. But this person was so close by that he could sense them anyway. The first thought that flashed through his head was that she must be in danger, as this person was practically on top of her, and he could sense that she was asleep. 

With a word, a picture of the scene so far away formed before him, and as Jareth prepared to strike – he stopped. And so, for a split second, did his heart. Sarah was indeed asleep, curled up in a blanket on the ground, in the arms of the young stable hand, Eamon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a love triangle, I SWEAR. As I said to another fair reader who was fretting about that old chestnut being used, Eamon would never dream of muscling in on his Lord's turf, if he even slightly suspected what was really happening. He's way too loyal to his King. In his defense, he has pretty much no idea what is really happening, but he's just a decent guy who is taking the opportunity to be kind to Sarah, who deserves some kindness at this point, yeah? *hides behind the Goblin defences and waits for tomatoes*


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn what doth goeth down with ye olde High Kinge.

It was one of those dreams Sarah had not allowed herself to have for a long time, a dream that had been a frequent visitor in the early years after her first Labyrinth run. Her lucid mind thought for a moment that perhaps she should not be having this dream, that it was a luxury she could not afford. It was overcome quickly by the sudden urge to indulge herself, to allow herself a little enjoyment, for after all, had she not been working particularly hard as of late? Sighing a little, she allowed herself to slip deeper into the dreaming state. 

The scene was familiar – huge, crumbled pieces of the castle floating all around, darkness beyond. Beneath her feet was solid stone, but she felt a strange vertigo, as though at any moment the whole structure might tip sideways and fling her off into the abyss. The scene was bathed in a kind of sourceless half light, and Sarah felt the barest breeze lift her hair from her shoulders. And suddenly, he was there. 

He stood in a beam of silver light, as though carved from it. His eyes glittered in the half light, like diamond knives that cut through her defences and left her shaking on the inside. She was afraid to let him see how deeply his presence affected her. She shivered once, and watched his eyes light up in satisfaction. 

“ _Sarah_...” his voice was low, rough with exhaustion, and something else. Something that she had not quite grasped at the tender age of fifteen, but that she had imagined was there many times since. He held out his hand, half beckoning, half warding her off, and she took a step towards him. The familiar lines rang through her head, unspoken, each word falling like a stone into her heart.

“ _Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle..._ ”

She took another step forward, slowly, deliberately, her eyes trapped by his. She felt like a wild animal caught in a bright light, knowing that danger and death lay beyond it, but unable to look away. A stronger gust of wind tossed the feathered edges of Jareth’s cloak and caught his pale hair. His hand was still stretched out before him, but now held the familiar crystalline globe, and Sarah could see his face reflected upside down in it. She took another and another step, drawing closer each time. His eyes grew darker with each footfall, and a tiny smile began to curl one corner of his mouth. Sarah walked straight past his outstretched hand and stopped, now close enough to the Goblin King to hear each breath as he exhaled and inhaled. They stood, frozen, eyes locked for what seemed an eternity. 

One hand, trembling slightly, reached up and touched his face. Fingertips traveled over high cheekbones, winged brows, his high, aristocratic nose, and firm chin. His eyes slid shut for a moment, and opened again when those fingertips hesitantly brushed over his lips. Sarah found herself barely breathing, a strange feeling beginning to writhe in the pit of her belly. His hand came up and caught her wrist, and without taking his eyes from hers, brought it to his mouth, and lightly kissed the palm. A flash of fire burned through her hand and down her arm at the touch of his lips, and she felt her heart stumble and falter for a moment. Now she knew what his touch felt like, and her mind supplied the physical memory to go along with the imagining. 

Without releasing her captured hand, he brought his own hand to her face, and slid his silk-clad fingers into her hair. Everywhere he touched her was blue fire burning, and her lungs screamed for more air than she was able to give them. One step was all that separated them now, and Sarah could feel the air between them humming with tension, as she took the final pace forward. The Goblin King’s arms went around her then, and she could hear a buzzing in her ears, her heart thundering. Looking up into that familiar face, she said the words that she had always wanted to, but never dared. 

“ _Jareth... please... please kiss me..._ ” 

Abruptly, she buzzing in her ears ceased with a snort, and Jareth’s face changed, looking at her in a puzzled, slightly bewildered way.

“Sarah? What...” a different voice issued from his mouth, and Sarah suddenly snapped awake to find herself staring into the bleary, confused eyes of Eamon, his arms around her as they lay on the forest floor. The early morning sun slanted through the trees and shone full on both their faces. For a moment Sarah was frozen, unsure what to do, and not quite sure how she had gotten there in the first place. In the same instant they both scrambled away from each other, fully awake. The forest was cloaked in a light mist, but the rain had ceased at last. Their fire of the night before was blanketed in ashes, only a faint wisp of smoke curling up from the center. Eamon immediately stood and began to busy himself with stirring the ashes and trying to rekindle the last few coals that were still burning underneath. Sarah was sitting on the edge of the ground cover, staring at the leaf mould at her feet. Eamon was the first to speak, although neither of them looked at each other.

“Sarah... lady.... uh, I apologise... that is, I didn’t mean – please don’t misunderstand...”

Sarah placed her hands over her burning face, and mumbled into them, “It’s alright. Not your fault...” oh God. Had she spoken out loud in her dream? Had Eamon heard her? What on earth would he think about her now? In the bright light of day, the dream began to lose the hold it had taken on her, and she saw how utterly ridiculous it was. As if that would have ever happened! _Wake up, Sarah_ , her mind helpfully supplied, _he’s a King! And what are you? Nothing, only a servant in his house._

The sound of damp wood beginning to crackle and hiss as it was fed to the fire brought her out of her self-pity, and she cast a surreptitious glance at the person who was stoking it. Eamon’s profile was turned towards her, and she studied it for a moment. He was certainly good-looking enough, and reassuringly human. He had been nothing but kind to her, not to mention that he was risking his place in the castle and undoubtedly his own wellbeing, in order to help her rescue her brother. Toby! _You idiot, don’t you have more important things to think about? You’re acting like a teenager._ Sarah squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

“Uh, Sarah,” Eamon’s voice was hesitant; “there is food, if you would like some. I’m afraid it’s more of the same.” Sarah opened one eye a crack to look at what he was offering, and saw a traveling cake in his outstretched hand. Trying not to look at his face, she reached out to take it from him, and when their hands brushed together, she jerked hers back, letting the cake fall to the ground. Quickly snatching it up, she brushed dirt and leaves from the outside, and began to eat. She sensed Eamon sitting down next to her, and tensed, trying not to make any contact with him. Birds were calling a morning song, their voices echoing through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, an owl screeched. It was then that she saw her abandoned apples and loaf of bread from the night before, lying on the ground. The loaf was beyond saving, but the apples only needed to be brushed off. Retrieving them, she wiped them both on the corner of the blanket, and without turning to look directly at Eamon, offered one to him.

“My thanks. Sarah,” Eamon deliberately moved into her field of vision; “I am truly sorry. I don’t know what... well, I didn’t mean to. I said you could trust me, and I want you to believe that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sarah mumbled. She was still mortified that he might have heard what she had said in her dreaming state.

Eamon continued, putting one finger under Sarah’s chin, gently forcing her to look up at him. “I have to know, Sarah. What are you to His Majesty?” He had heard! Sarah, mortified, closed her eyes tight once more, refusing to look at him. “Why did he take you into the Labyrinth with him? Why would he have Watchers there while I taught you to ride?” A flock of sparrows took off from the branches of the tree they were under, shrieking their song to the sky.

“I... I can’t say!”

“Are you in danger from him? Sarah, look at me.” She did, her eyes pleading. 

“I can’t tell you, Eamon. I’m sorry; it’s just too hard to explain. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for your help. You shouldn’t be involved in this!” Tears began to form themselves in the corner or her eyes, and as one slipped down, Eamon lifted a finger to catch it. Then suddenly, a voice, dry and cold as cracking ice-

“Well.... isn’t _this_ a nice gathering?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Toby had never slept so much in his life, and never had he dreamt so little. When he woke, he sometimes found food on the carved wooden table at the foot of his bed. The drapes that covered the tall windows only allowed in very little light, by which he knew only that it was either night or day. The room itself was expansive, though he could see little in the half light. He had discovered the Lady sleeping in another bed, across the room, but he had been able to do nothing to rouse her. And without fail, within a short time of him waking and eating, he began to feel sleepy again, and stumbled back to the bed to drift into sleep once more. 

This time, however, he found himself laying awake, staring at the ceiling that was lost in the dimness far above him. He was unsure as to how long he had been awake – certainly it was longer than he usually was. Toby wondered how many days it had been since the big men with huge, sharp looking swords had grabbed them and taken them to this room. He had not seen a soul apart from the sleeping Lady the whole time, although he knew that someone must be coming in to leave the food. 

It felt different this time. He was wide awake, and could not feel himself getting sleepy again. Maybe it was time he tried to find a way out of this room. The light that snuck in from tiny gaps in the curtains was yellow-orange, and Toby thought it might be either sunrise or sunset. The air in the room was warm and stuffy, and dust motes danced in the light beams. He reached one of the huge windows, and tried to pull back the drape, but the material was too heavy and voluminous, and did not budge. Instead he ducked underneath it, and stood on tiptoes to look out of the window. The room was so high up that I could see nothing but sky, so he decided to climb up on the broad stone windowsill. He then stared openmouthed at the vista that stretched out before him. 

As far as he could see were high stone turrets, walls and battlements, and far below, the bright green square of a courtyard. In the distance, the ocean sparkled and flashed. A hundred pennants, each brightly coloured and snapping sharply as they flew in the wind, rose from the tip of each tower. The stone itself was bathed in golden light from the setting sun, which was dipping itself into the ocean as it sank. A mighty ship was anchored in the harbour, its sails furled, and rocking back and forth on the swell. Toby had never imagined anything so grand in his life. It was more magnificent than the palace Jareth had brought him to, and Toby wondered whose it was. 

He sat on the windowsill, watching the sun disappear over the horizon, until it grew dark, and he couldn’t see anything except tiny golden lights that began to glow in many of the windows. Suddenly realizing that he was hungry, Toby climbed back out from underneath the curtain, and walked carefully across the now-dark room, heading for where he thought the table would be. He reached it, and felt around on the surface, finding nothing. This was not the first time he had woken and found no food, but it was the longest he had stayed awake. 

He felt his way back to the edge of the bed, and sat there, although he did not want to lie down again. The room was now completely dark, and Toby stared around him, trying to make his eyes adjust to it. After a few minutes, he noticed that a very faint light was filtering in from underneath the door. He looked intently at it, thinking at first that it was his imagination when the light grew a little brighter. It increased more and more, and Toby began to hear footsteps echoing behind the door, growing louder as the light became brighter. 

With a creak, the door handle turned and began to open, and Toby slipped quickly off the bed and hid, peering around the headboard as carefully as he could. A tall, slender figure stood in the doorway, draped in elegant robes, and holding a delicately crafted teardrop-shaped lantern in one hand. The light that came from the lantern did not flicker, and was too white to be candle light. Toby blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, and when his vision cleared, he could see the person staring straight into his eyes. With a tiny gasp, he pulled himself back behind the bed, and tried not to breathe. Maybe they had not really seen him; maybe he had just imagined it. He could see the light drawing closer, and was just contemplating a dive under the bed itself, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Toby squeaked and jumped up, turning to face the person who towered over him. He was immediately struck by the unusual beauty on the... person’s face. Whether it was a man or a woman was not immediately obvious, but the long, elegant features were clearly Fae. Toby found himself staring openmouthed up at the person, who smiled at him. 

“Young human, are you hungry?” The voice was musical, and again, Toby could not quite place a gender on the person. A smile appeared which somehow did not reach the pale eyes. 

“Maybe.” Something did not quite feel right, but he was not sure what it was. All he knew was that he should not trust this person who did not really smile. “Why is the Lady sleeping? Why did I sleep so much?” He thrust his chin out as he had so often seen his sister do, hoping it would make him feel as brave as she had always looked. 

The elegant being smiled again. “You must have been very tired to sleep so much, as is the Lady. She will wake when it is time.” Long, slender fingers closed around his upper arm like a steel trap, and he was hauled to his feet. 

“Come now. You must be very hungry, and there is someone special who wants to meet you.” Toby struggled but the vicelike grip did not give for an instant. 

“I don’t want to! Where’s Jareth? I want to go home!” his cries were ignored as he was half dragged down a long hallway, a winding flight of stairs, and then a second, wider corridor, lit by hanging lamps similar to the one being carried. They halted before a pair of huge wooden doors, which were flanked by a pair of fearsome looking guards. In the full light, Toby could now make out more details of the person who had taken him from the room. He saw long straight hair that was so blonde it could have been white, an unlined face, elegant and enigmatic, and a pair of surprisingly pale blue eyes. The person was also dressed in pale blue, and Toby was reminded of the time he had forgotten his favourite blue sweater and left it in the rain and sun for a week, only to come back and find it utterly washed out. 

It spoke a word which made Toby’s ears hurt, and without a sound, the heavy wooden doors swung open. The room before them was vast, stretching out on either side until almost lost from view. It was carpeted in rich reds and golds, and where the rugs did not quite cover the floor, warm sandstone showed through. Banners hung from the high ceiling, elaborately embroidered in the richest, jewel-like colours, with gold and silver threads. Light seemed to come from everywhere at once but Toby’s eyes were immediately drawn to the magnificent golden throne placed against the wall directly opposite them. He had never seen anything like it, and was gaping in wonder, when the hand gripping his arm tugged downwards sharply. He stumbled to his knees with a cry of protest, and then saw that the person had already sunk elegantly to theirs, and bowed their head.

“We must show our respects, mustn’t we?” The voice still had its veneer of friendliness, but was like steel underneath. “You may rise.”

Toby stood, his arm beginning to ache where it was gripped so tightly, and gasped – for suddenly, standing in front of them, was a child. He seemed about Toby’s age, and perhaps a shade taller, and was the most beautiful child Toby had ever seen. He felt the blood rush to his face as he thought it – but at the same time, he could think of no other words to describe the child. Hair so black it seemed blue, perfect, deep blue eyes, and a sweet, winsome smile which was directed just at Toby. He held out a hand to him.

“Would you like to play?”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consequences

Sarah could not move. Eamon’s finger had frozen on her cheek, and she watched with a kind of horror as his face grew white as death. There was no mistaking that voice, and the thinly veiled anger that lay beneath its surface. Sarah’s frantic thoughts tried to scramble into some sense of order, explanations and excuses all half formed and nebulous, but none she really felt she could say. Before she could open her mouth to speak, she felt a hand like steel on her shoulder, twisting her around with so much force that she would have fallen sideways, were it not for that relentless grip. She tilted her head back, squinting at the figure that stood behind her, silhouetted in the morning sun, pale hair glowing in a nimbus around his head. Jareth, dressed in black like Death incarnate, eyes burning, face expressionless, turned his gaze to Eamon, not releasing Sarah.

Eamon immediately bowed his head low. “Your Majesty, I am...”

“You will be silent.” Jareth spoke without changing his expression, through clenched teeth. Eamon’s mouth snapped shut in mid-sentence, and he swallowed. “My guards will arrive shortly to escort you back to the palace, and your new quarters in the dungeon.” Eamon did not raise his head or speak up in his own defense. In his silence, Sarah found her voice at last.

“No! Jareth, it’s not his fault. I made him help me! It’s not f...” she broke off with a cry as Jareth’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“Do not press me, girl. You have tested the limits of my patience, and I am not,” he emphasized the word, narrowing his eyes, “in a lenient frame of mind. You,” his gaze swung back to Eamon, “I expected some idiocy of this kind from her, but not from you. You will remain under guard until my return, when you will be given a chance to acquit yourself.”

Eamon still did not speak, only nodded his head, shoulders slumped. Sarah twisted against the iron grip that still held her, and gasped as his other hand gripped her and she was physically hauled to her feet. She opened her mouth to protest, but was stilled by the look in his eyes. 

“You.” Sarah flinched, half expecting the word to manifest into a dagger and impale her on the tree. “I gave orders for your own protection, not just to thwart your childish will. And this is what you give me in return? To throw it back in my face.” Sarah flushed deep red at his words, knowing them to be true, but still wanting to defend herself.

“Please Ja... Your Majesty. He’s my brother.” Her words came out in a whisper, and to her dismay, she felt tears welling up in her eyes again. Angrily, she tried to blink them away, embarrassed at her weakness. From the direction of the road came the sound of galloping horses, rapidly approaching. Jareth, still holding Sarah’s shoulder with one hand, pulled his crescent shaped pendant from his shirt with the other. Turning it over to reveal a brightly polished surface, he caught the suns rays and shone them towards the road. 

After several moments the hoofbeats slowed and turned towards them, and before long a half dozen human guards, dressed in the King’s livery, came into view. They surrounded the three, before dismounting. Sarah recognized the one of the guards who had captured and held her imprisoned before. At a nod from Jareth, one of them grasped Eamon’s arm as though to force him to stand, but he did so himself before the guard was able. He raised his head only once, to look at Sarah, but dropped his eyes quickly when he felt the burning gaze of his King upon him. Jareth had tucked the pendant back under his shirt, and began to half walk; half drag Sarah towards the head guard. 

“I would escort you back _personally_ , but I am afraid more pressing matters require my attention.” He released her, and she stumbled slightly with the sudden loss of contact. Her shoulder ached where he had gripped it, but she dared not reach up to rub some life back into it with the other hand. The unsmiling human guard reached out a hand to grab her, and she backed up a step – only to feel the solid form of the Goblin King directly behind her. She knew that he did not intend to let her run away this time. Unsure for a moment what to do, Sarah then turned slowly to face Jareth, looking up at him to find his face very close to her own. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his right hand begin to rise slightly, and she instinctively put a hand to her throat, eyes going wide. 

“No... You wouldn’t!”

Jareth’s eyes were hard. “This is not open for discussion, Sarah. I can only imagine how you managed to... entice one of my loyal subjects, convinced him to defy me.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm now. “Given your past history, I suppose I should not be surprised.”

That struck a nerve with Sarah, and she felt some of her fear dissolving. “Enticed? Is that what you think I did? He’s my friend!”

“Oh, a friend? Is that what you call them? How convenient that must be for you.” Jareth smirked. 

Sarah, enraged for a moment beyond all logic, raised a hand to slap the smug look from his face. He caught her wrist neatly in midair, long gloved fingers wrapping around it none too gently. His smirk deepened, and he chuckled. “Now, Sarah, I though you had grown out of such displays long ago.” 

Sarah, infuriated now, fought to free her hand with no success. From behind her the human guard spoke, “Your Majesty?”

“Wait.” Jareth held up his free hand. The guard stepped back a pace, but never relaxed his stance. “Now, dear little girl, as much as I enjoy these discussions with you, I’m afraid it is time for your adventure to end. In fact,” his eyes suddenly narrowed, as though something was occurring to him, “perhaps it is time for me to remedy my original mistake.”

Sarah stopped struggling, confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“What I should have done when I first saw you in my dungeon. It is time for you to go home.” At his words, her eyes grew wide once more, but this time they were filled with confusion and dismay.

“What? No! But, Jareth, you can’t send me back – not now!” With her free hand she clutched the front of his shirt, not caring anymore what he or anyone thought of her. “You can’t do that to me! Please, you have to let me come with you; you have to let me fight!” She stood as closely to him as she dared, entreating him with her eyes. 

Jareth found it somewhat difficult to maintain his enforced distance when looking into those eyes – damn those eyes! – and resisted the urge to put his arm around her. This was for her own good. He would not be swayed by her emotions. Steeling himself, he looked away from her face, and gritted his teeth, gathering power to himself. Sarah felt the air begin to change, as though lightning was about to strike nearby, although the sky remained cloudless. She grabbed tighter at the Goblin King’s shirt and pressed herself against him, as though by holding onto him she could stop what he was doing. 

“No, no, please, don’t do it.” Jareth could feel her breath through the fabric of his shirt as she spoke into his chest. It was a little disconcerting, and he used his free hand to lift her face away, and looked her in the eye. 

“Yes.” His voice was low, intended only for her ears. “Do not think that I particularly enjoy this, Sarah.” For a split second his eyes dropped to her mouth, so close now, and Sarah blinked in confusion. Taking advantage of the fleeting distraction, Jareth took that moment to weave the spell around her, binding it as tightly as he could. Sarah began to feel the familiar dizzying effect of the transportation, and clung tighter with both hands to Jareth, even as his image began to waver and dissolve in front of her eyes. 

As the leaves began to swirl up around her, she could still feel his hand gripping her wrist, the fabric of his shirt underneath her fingers, and for the briefest of moments she thought she felt the touch of gloved fingers on her face. Then she was falling.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was night, and cold. 

Sarah shivered convulsively, crouched into herself. Opening her eyes to find the spinning had stopped, she looked around fearfully. The moon slipped out from behind the clouds for a moment, illuminating a stone bridge that arched across a pond... 

...and street lights in the distance.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jareth staggered just a little, feeling the power drain from him, but recovered quickly. Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed deeply. He had been loath to use a spell like that which used so much power, but the more he considered it, he knew he had done the right thing. She would be safe there, and, he was fairly certain, would not be able to make her own way back without assistance. 

He turned to his guards. “Lorcan, remove this boy to the castle. I will continue on.” His head guard nodded once, unfazed by the display of magic that had suddenly sent the human girl to an unknown place, and remounted his horse. Eamon was mounted behind one of the other guards, wrists bound. Jareth refused to look at him, instead turning steely eyes to the sky. He could almost feel the boy’s look of disbelief and accusation, but felt he owed the whelp no answer for his actions. He would be dealt with later – once this whole messy affair was over. It was a pity to have one of his best hostlers locked away and unable to work, but the choice had been made.

Without another word the horses turned towards the road and trotted away, breaking into a gallop as soon as they reached the road. Once the hoofbeats had faded, Jareth knelt down onto the leafy loam, pulling his gloves off carefully. Laying them aside, he flexed his fingers for a moment, before driving them as deeply into the earth as he was able. Thank all the Powers that he was still within the borders of his own lands. Feeling the faint green threads of magic that wove through the earth, he began to gather them to himself, spinning them as though on a spindle. The long, unbroken thread he drew into his being, feeling himself relax as he did so. He was going to need to muster every bit of power and trickery to fight this battle. And there was no doubt in his mind that is what it would be. 

Breaking the thread after a time, he drew his hands from the soil; his long fingers somehow unstained by the dirt, and drew his gloves back on. Standing, he stretched the muscles of his arms and flexed his fingers again. They felt slightly stiff with the amount of power he had just drawn into himself, but the feeling faded quickly. Taking a moment to focus his thoughts, he felt the familiar shift to his avian form begin, and between one breath and another, had transformed and was winging upwards to the canopy of the forest. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Toby did not know how long it had been since he had slept, or since he had eaten, but he did not care. It was like being in a beautiful dream that he never wanted to wake from. Every moment spent in the company of this beautiful child seemed to stretch on forever, like a thread of gold drawn so thin that it could barely be seen.

He had asked the child’s name, once, but had only received a gentle smile in return, and the look of mild reproach in those beautiful blue eyes was enough to silence him. He had felt his face flush deeply, and resolved never to ask again. 

But the games they played, the wonderful games! It was like nothing he had ever known! When they imagined worlds together, it was as though those worlds became reality, just for them – filled with mystery and wonders. They commanded dragons to their will, rode through the skies on vessels of cloud, directed lightning from mountain tops, and swam through the deepest of oceans. Toby often found his eyes wet, and not quite knowing why he was over come, was embarrassed. But the child would smile at him, and he found himself smiling back, even with tears on his cheeks. 

Although he did not consider food or drink, had he not been so enchanted by all the wonders laid out before him, he would have begun to feel the demands of his body, the hunger pains and thirst. As it was, he felt nothing but excitement and joy. Day faded into night, and back again, but there was no time in this place.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was winter, and although there was no snow on the ground, Sarah could feel the sting of ice in the night air. Wishing she’d had time to grab her blanket, she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling waves of gooseflesh rush over her whole body. Her arms in their sleeveless tunic that had once been a summer dress were exposed to the biting breeze. The moon had hidden itself again and Sarah was peering around in the gloom, trying to gain her bearings. She still felt a slight vertigo, her ears ringing, as thought the earth was tilting sideways. 

Then suddenly, she knew. The stone bridge, the pond – her mind spun back to that day so long ago, when she had run across the grass in a white dress, flowers in her hair, tiny red book in her hands. He had really sent her back! Breathing slowly to try and stay calm, part of her mind was screaming over and over, _you’re home! You’re home!_ She had always expected to feel a great relief when she was in her own world again, but she felt curiously bereft. There was a cold emptiness pressing on her chest, and somehow the air seemed deader here. But first she needed to get warm. She could already feel herself beginning to shiver in earnest.

How long had it been since she was here? How many years had passed since she had been pulled from her world and dropped unceremoniously into the Underground? Sarah began to walk quickly in the direction she knew so well. She had not come to the park very often in the years after her first Labyrinth run, but she still knew it well. The grass was a little longer than it had been the last time she was here, and she stumbled a little in the dark, but soon the stone bridge loomed out of the dark. Placing one hand on the icy stones, she crossed it, beginning to jog a little as the edge of the park and the streetlights drew closer. Her shoes had no socks or stockings underneath them, and the leather had dried stiffly after being soaked with rain the night before. Within a few moments she could feel blisters forming on her feet, which were already painfully cold. Still, she kept moving.

There were a few lights still burning in windows as she ran by, and Sarah guessed it was later in the evening. She did not need the moon now, as the rest of her way was lit by the sickly glowing streetlights. Had they always looked so unnatural? Or was she simply unused to the way they looked now?

The run was beginning to warm her, although the tip of her nose still felt numb from cold, and her fingers were only now beginning to tingle with returned circulation. The familiar white clapboard houses flashed by, and all seemed unchanged, static, as though time itself had stood still the entire time she was gone. The last time she had run down this road, the only thing on her mind had been how much her stepmother was going to freak out that she was late again. Sarah smiled darkly to herself for a moment. If only life was that simple now.

She ran across the final road, and there it was. There was a single light burning in the living room, and everything else was dark. No dog barked – at least they had not replaced Merlin after she had gone. Sarah stood for just a moment, trying to digest where she was, and what was actually happening. She did not even know if her family still lived in the same place. In her mind she could see her father sitting in his overstuffed armchair close to the fireplace, reading his newspaper, and her stepmother flitting and fussing around the kitchen as she always did. Her heart slowed, and she lifted one foot after another, slowly crossing the patch of grass, then taking the steps that led to the front door, one at a time. Her hand hesitated over the knocker for a moment, and for a moment she toyed with the idea of turning and running away. But where would she go?

Twice she knocked, and then waited, heart in her throat, as she heard steps approach the door. The front light flicked on and blinded her for a moment, and then the door opened. The familiar thin, nervy silhouette of her stepmother was outlined against the light. Sarah could see her squinting at this stranger that stood on her doorstep.

“Yes?” she snapped. “Can I help you with something?”

Suddenly Sarah found it difficult to speak past the lump in her throat. “Mom... Karen...” she managed after a moment.

Karen screamed.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Lids that seemed to have been closed for centuries began to open, and faint light pierced the eyes that were now too used to darkness. A single finger twitched, followed a moment later by the hand clenching into a convulsive fist. Muscles that had lain for too long in one position protested at the sudden movement, spasming and cramping in pain. This caused the sleeper to open their eyes a little further, while also squinting against the intrusion of light. The high, ornate ceiling of the room seemed to spin slightly before settling again, and as the person tried to sit up, they realized they were lying on a soft, expansive surface. The hands that were still stiff with misuse felt around a little more, and encountered silken robes, a thickly woven coverlet, and long, soft hair. This was held up for inspection to the half open eyes, and now a name dropped itself into its awareness. 

_Caoilainn. My name is Caoilainn._

With this recollection came the return of more memories, stronger and more urgent, which caused the lady’s eyes to fly fully open to stare around her. 

_The Summer Palace... the human boy... Jareth... the High King!_

With a sinking feeling in her gut, she took in the huge, heavily draped windows, around which no chink of light appeared, the large bed on which she had been lying, and a very dark, barred wooden door. A single candle burned in a tall candlestick next to the bed, the flame too steady to be natural. None of it was familiar, but then she did not expect it to be. On her visits of state to the High King’s palace, she had only seen the King’s Court, the Banqueting Hall and the guest chambers. The Palace itself was too vast to allow her to imagine that she had seen even a tenth of its rooms. There was no doubt in her mind now that this is where she was. A thought occurred to her suddenly and she raised both hands in front of her face, drawing up as she did the power that nestled within her body. A faint glow began to appear at her fingertips, expanded, and brightened: then died as quickly as a flame snuffed out in a strong draught. So her magic was being dampened. This came as no great surprise to her, for the High King was anything but foolish. 

Cursing softly, she lowered her hands once more, taking a moment to test each muscle in her body to ensure they all still worked. Reassured, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed, noting as she did that her feet were bare, and feeling them sink into the rich, luxurious carpet. She was still clothed in the same dress she had been wearing, but a quick check at her breast and waist showed that both her concealed weapons had been removed. Cautiously she walked towards the door, looking around her to check each corner of the room as she did so. Nothing moved in the shadows except for herself. As she reached the entrance and reached out a hand to touch its surface, the door swung inwards, forcing her to step backwards hastily. The light that came from the corridor outside was only a little brighter than that which came from her single candle. 

No-one stood in the open doorway, and as Caoilainn stepped towards it and looked out, it seemed there was nobody in the hall either. Three or four candles that she could see burned at intervals down its length, all with the same weird unwavering flame of her own. After several moments had passed and nothing else occurred, Caoilainn moved out into the hall. It stretched away to either side, with both options seeming equally as unappealing as each other. Sure of nothing except for the feeling of mortal danger that was stirring in her gut, she chose a direction and began to walk.

After what seemed like hours, Caoilainn reached a doorway at the end of the hall. In the faint candlelight, the top of the door disappeared into the dimness. She could see that it was inlaid with gold and silver metals, outlining fantastic designs of animals and birds, which were carved in relief. There were no door handles, but again as she reached out her hand, the massive portal swung open, this time away from her. She made to take a step forward and immediately stopped in shock. 

A faintly salty breeze soughed past her face, and at her feet, instead of the marble floor or carpet she had been expecting, was the sheer drop of a cliff face. Raising her eyes slowly upwards, she could see a vast expanse of roiling ocean stretching off into infinity, with weirdly shaped pinnacles of rock dotted here and there. An overcast sky was above, with strong yellow sunlight breaking through intermittently to cast its beams upon the restless sea. The cliff at her feet was barren save for a few tufts of silvery grass, and a scattering of small daisy like flowers. Turning slowly to gaze behind her, she saw to her horror that the doorway had disappeared, and she was now standing on not a cliff, but balanced on the tip of one of the black pinnacles of rock. Salty spray misted over her as she sank slowly to her knees. There was barely room on the surface to sit, but she felt that her legs could no longer support her. She was nowhere that she could recognize, and felt a strange, unreasoning fear that was very unlike her usual composure grip her. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Karen and Sarah stood, eyes locked, as the scream died away into silence. Sarah heard a sudden thumping from inside the house, as though somebody was running at full tilt down the stairs. Seconds later her father’s face appeared behind Karen, full of concern. It took him only an instant for him to recognize Sarah, changed as she was from when he had seen her last, and shock rooted him to the porch alongside his wife. 

“D...Dad?” Sarah could barely speak over the lump in her throat, as tears began to form in her eyes. Her father squeezed his eyes shut once, and when he had opened them and Sarah had not disappeared, stepped forward and grabbed her fiercely in his arms. She could feel his whole body shaking with sobs, as was her own. After a moment she felt Karen’s arms go around them both, and heard her own weeping join theirs.

“Oh Sarah, my baby girl...” her father’s voice was choked with tears and emotion. He held her at arms length for a moment, noting her short-cropped hair, strange dress, and the dirt that was being washed from her face by her tears. “Oh baby girl, what happened to you?” Karen had pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and was dabbing at her eyes, normally immaculate makeup smeared and running. The action seemed to allow her to collect herself, and she herded Robert and Sarah inside.

“In! You’ll catch your death of a cold, if you haven’t already.” Karen said. The two obeyed, and Robert held tightly to his daughters’ hand as they walked towards the den, as though if he let go she would disappear again. They sat on the overstuffed sofa, Karen seating herself in the armchair opposite them, still wiping her eyes. Sarah could not get enough of looking at her father. She could see new lines around his eyes and mouth, and a shock of silver hair at his temple that had not been there before. He was making a similar evaluation, and could see that whatever Sarah had been through for the last three years, it had been a difficult time of maturing. She looked more like her mother now than she ever had before, and Robert felt a pang in his heart as the realization struck him. Karen stood and plucked a box of tissues from the coffee table, holding it out to them. Reluctantly they released each other and reached out for tissues, wiping eyes and blowing noses. Sarah was suddenly struck by the remembrance of the two handkerchiefs that were still underneath her pillow in the garden shack... of the Goblin King’s castle. Her mind went blank for a moment as she tried to imagine how she could possibly put into words all that had happened to her. Who would believe her? It was too fantastic. 

“Honey... where have you been?” her father had composed himself enough to speak. “We searched... we looked all over for you.” Sarah’s heart twisted at his words. While she had missed them sorely over the years, at least she had known, as much as she could know, that they were still alive. She had not thought that her parents might have suspected her to be dead. Sarah could not even imagine what they must have gone through.

“Oh Daddy, I didn’t run away, I would never do that to you,” she hastened to reassure him. Tears filled his eyes once more as she called him “Daddy”. She had not since she was fifteen. 

“Were you taken? Did someone make you join some kind of cult?” Karen spoke now, and pointed to Sarah’s dress as she did. Sarah looked down at herself, and then reached up to finger her short hair realizing how she must look to them both. 

“You could say that... I was definitely taken against my will. I... I’m not sure where I went, but, uh,” she struggled to describe it in terms that would make sense to them, “I had to work to eat, but it wasn’t so bad once I got better work in the castle...” her voice trailed off as her parents began to stare.

“Castle?” Robert sounded incredulous. “An actual castle? Who were these people? Did they take you to some other country?”

Sarah attempted to explain again. “Uh, maybe I should say, they called it the Castle. Oh dad, I don’t know, it’s all just so...” she lifted one hand to her face, noting with a strange sense of detachment that it was shaking even though she was warm. The reality of where she was sitting was finally hitting her, and if it had not been for the outlandish clothing she wore and the unusual haircut, she might just be able to close her eyes and pretend the last three years had been a dream. She could go to her own bed, and wake up in the morning when Toby snuck into her room and jumped on her...

Toby!

Her head jerked up suddenly and she gasped. 

“What is it?” Karen asked, concerned at the sudden whiteness in Sarah’s face. 

“Toby,” she managed to say, “is he...?”

Both Robert and Karen exchanged glances, smiling a little. Was that all? Sarah had become so fond of her little half brother after those rocky first few years. 

“Toby’s fine, Sarah,” Karen soothed, speaking in the same tone she used to calm her son, “he’s upstairs in bed. I’ll go wake him if you’d like.”

“No!” Sarah half stood from her place on the sofa as she exclaimed, causing her parents to look at her in alarm. “I mean, maybe we should wait until morning, that is, I don’t want to shock him...” her voice trailed away. Oh God. Toby. The calm, detached part of her that was observing everything also pointed out to her that if indeed the last three years had not been a dream, then Toby was in fact gone... disappeared, as inexplicably as she herself had been. Suddenly the heat from the room seemed to suffocate her, and the cool, aloof voice noted that she appeared to be passing out. As the blackness came down over her, she saw her father’s concerned face disappear behind it like a curtain.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Our Characters Get From A to B

The rains had ceased, for now. The atmosphere was still oppressive, with purple clouds looming overhead and thunder muttering in the distance. Once Jareth and his men had passed over the border and out of his own lands, the roads had improved greatly. Although he was not one for idle conversation while travelling, Jareth had nonetheless been even more silent than usual, a fact which had not escaped the notice of Cuinn. Since returning from his short flight that morning to deal with the human girl, the King had said not a word, simply swinging himself up into the saddle and starting back down the road, tersely signalling the others to follow. Cuinn had ensured the men had broken camp and would be ready and waiting whenever he returned. With practiced ease they had fallen into formation around their King, Cuinn positioning himself to the left and slightly behind Jareth. The only indication of emotion that betrayed the King was the muscle in his jaw that clenched and unclenched continually. To Cuinn, who knew him so well, it was enough of a signal to indicate that very careful handling of the situation was going to be needed. 

The land they were passing through became less wild and more cultivated, with farms and rich homesteads increasing in number the closer they came to the High King’s city. The rain began to fall again after midday of the first day, a steady, soaking rain that kept most people indoors. Few seemed to mark their passing with any interest, but Jareth was always keenly aware of being watched. None passed through the High King’s realm unmarked. Rather than subject themselves to more scrutiny, they chose to camp out of doors in favour of patronizing the local way-houses. Jareth’s men were seasoned woodsmen, and it was a matter of minutes for them to set up temporary camp out of sight of the road. Days passed in this manner, as they drew ever closer to the Palace. Jareth guarded his strength, keenly aware of the growing distance between himself and his source of power, feeling the bond stretched thin as spiders silk.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

A cold washcloth on her face roused Sarah somewhat, and the dear, familiar face of her father floating into view woke her completely. She was lying on the living room floor, a sofa cushion under her head, her father kneeling by her side. Karen was coming back from the kitchen with a glass of what looked like juice. 

“Here,” she said, leaning down and handing it to Sarah, “The sugar will pick you right back up again.” Sarah raised herself up on one elbow and took a tentative sip. Orange, with enough sugar added to it to raise the dead. Sarah forced herself to swallow a couple of mouthfuls before handing it back to her stepmother.

“Thank you. I’m sorry; I must have just been hungry.” She carefully avoided any mention of Toby, relieved to note that they seemed to have forgotten to go upstairs and try to wake him. The longer she could keep it from them, the better chance she had of... of what? Getting back to the Underground? Rescuing him? Beating some sense into Jareth’s arrogant, supercilious, bullying head? Accepting her father’s hand, Sarah allowed herself to be picked up and sat onto the sofa, and a woollen blanket tucked over her lap. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply. She had to get back. But how to explain to her parents, and more importantly, how to keep both of them from discovering Toby’s absence until she had a chance to bring him back home. She could not let herself think of anything but that. Opening her eyes again she smiled into her father’s face, trying to reassure him that she was all right. He gripped her hand and smiled back at her slightly. Karen, who was ever practical even in the midst of a crisis, bustled back into the kitchen to bring food. 

“When did you eat last, Sarah? You’re all skin and bones!”

Sarah looked down at herself and the hand her father held, she was thankful that they had not seen her in the condition she was in a few months earlier. Her father was already trying to smile past the concern she could see in his eyes.

“You look so much like your mother, honey... well, except for this, maybe.” He reached up and touched the short, hacked off strands of hair, his smile fading slightly. “What did they do to you?”

“Oh Daddy, I did that myself. I was, you know, feeling a bit rebellious.” She tried to grin, but by the look on her father’s face the attempt had fooled no one. She squeezed his hand with her own, trying to reassure him wordlessly. There was no way she could tell him all that had gone on in the last 3 years, even if she omitted where she had been and how she had got there. “I’m home now, aren’t I?”

Robert’s face darkened in anger. “That may be, but it won’t stop me from calling the police as soon as you’re up to telling them everything that’s happened. These people need to be brought to justice!”

Sarah felt a small knot of panic begin to build in her stomach. If only it were that simple, if only it was really all over and nothing left but to try and explain the mystery of her absence to the police. If only Toby… her eyes closed, and she lifted a suddenly shaky hand up to her forehead.

“What is it honey?” when Sarah opened her eyes, her father was looking at her intently, concern written all over his face. “They can’t hurt you anymore, now that you’re safe home with us.” Sarah bit down on her bottom lip, not knowing how to reassure her father, when everything was not all right. She had a moments reprieve when Karen came in from the kitchen, open faced grilled cheese sandwich on a plate. Sarah took it gratefully. 

“Thanks, mom,” she smiled up at Karen, willing herself to smooth away the lines of concern she could feel creasing her forehead. Karen whipped out her handkerchief at Sarah’s words and dabbed at her eyes again. Although she had never been terribly demonstrative, Sarah knew she had come to care deeply for her often rebellious step-daughter. 

Sarah remembered enough about grilled cheese sandwiches to only nibble gingerly around the edges, not wanting to burn the roof of her mouth with the hot, stringy cheese. For a brief moment, the bliss of such a familiar taste, rooted so firmly in her childhood memories, made her close her eyes and sigh gustily. Almost as quickly, the memory of Toby nagging her to make one for him, tugging at her shirt and begging until she gave in, surfaced, causing the food in her mouth to lose its appeal. Not wanting to worry her parents even more, Sarah continued to chew slowly. The knot of panic nesting in her stomach was slowly growing larger, making it difficult to eat. If only there was some way she could go upstairs without arousing suspicion, to check on Toby, to see if it had all been a mistake or a bad dream. Her father kept touching her hand as though he couldn’t believe she was really there, and Karen, now that she had recovered from the shock, was bustling in and out of the room, rearranging cushions, twitching the curtains, and by the sounds coming from the kitchen, preparing coffee or tea. 

The kettle whistled, slowly getting louder until it was cut off with a clatter. Sarah placed her empty plate on the coffee table and eased herself back up to the sofa, her father following. An almost awkward silence followed, in which neither Sarah nor her father seemed to know what to say to each other, broken by Karen bustling back in, a tray of steaming mugs in hand. Easing them onto the coffee table, she picked up one and handed it to Sarah. It was her favourite mug, covered in swirls, scrolls, and flowers, the same one she had used for years. Knowing her parents had kept it for her, that they had not given up hope, made the tears blur her vision yet again. 

“Oh Daddy...” was all she could manage before her head went down, and she felt her fathers arms going around, her, cradling her like he had when she was a little girl and it was just the two of them, after her mother had left. She let herself cry, indulging in the release of emotions. “I missed you... so much.” she managed between sobs.

“We missed you too.” her fathers voice was gravelly, and she could hear him swallowing repeatedly, trying to keep himself under control. He kissed her forehead, and after a while, when the sobs slowed, pulled her carefully away from him, cautious of the mug of hot drink she still held. She saw determination growing is his face, and knew what was coming next. 

“Honey, I need you to tell me everything you can about these people who took you. I want them put away for a long time. It’s late now, but first thing in the morning I am calling Officer Bourke, and he will come over to ask you questions about it all.”

“Oh Dad, it’s just so hard to explain...” she trailed off, swallowing nervously. What could she possibly say to them to explain the last few years? They would probably think she was insane. _Well Dad, I was magicked away to a mythical kingdom by accident, and spent most of three years scraping a living together, living with a goblin woman. The same kingdom, perhaps I should tell you, that I wished my baby brother away to seven years ago, and travelled through to get him back. Did I mention the King of the Goblins? No?_ The only evidence to support her story lay sleeping in an upstairs bedroom; or perhaps he did not. Suddenly she had to know. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was just before midnight.

“Dad, I’m really tired, I just feel like I need to sleep for a week.” Smiling at him, she sipped at her mug cautiously. It was some sort of herbal tea, and her mind now automatically ran through the herbs she knew, recognizing chamomile, and some variety of mint. Her father had picked up his own mug and was drinking also. Karen bustled in and sat opposite them in the armchair, also glancing at the clock. Seizing on that chance, Sarah stood, putting down her drink.

“I guess I just really want to go to bed, you know? I feel like I’ll be able to make better sense in the morning.”

“Of course honey, you look done in.” her father stood also, patting her shoulder, “I’m sorry, you can talk about it in the morning after a good night’s rest. I’m just...” his voice trailed off a and Sarah saw his eyes grow bright again with unshed tears. He cleared his throat in embarrassment. “I’m just so glad to finally have you back, however you got here.” They embraced again, and Sarah drew back, feeling as though his touch had given her a new strength. If they had borne her absence all this time, surely she could be strong enough to bring her family back together. Turning towards the flight of carpeted stairs, Sarah was just about to walk up when her stepmothers voice halted her.

“Sarah, I do hope you don’t plan to go upstairs with those filthy... shoes on your feet.” A little of the old tartness was there, and Sarah had to stop herself rolling her eyes. Some things never fully changed, she supposed. 

“Of course not, mom.” leaning down to ease them off, she gasped a little as the stiff leather grazed over her fresh blisters, bursting one painfully. Dropping the shoes on the ground, she tried to smile reassuringly at her parents.  
“I just want to look in on Toby, then I’ll go to sleep.”

“I’ll come up as well, make sure your old room isn’t too dusty.” Karen stood and followed Sarah, who took the stairs three at a time in her anxiety to reach the top. The feeling in her gut was growing more and more intense as she reached the landing, and caused her to pause at the door to Toby’s room. Karen came up behind her and bustled past to the hall cupboard, opening it and taking out blankets and sheets. Waiting until Karen had opened her bedroom door and entered, Sarah took a deep breath, and reached out to slowly push the door open. It was dark inside, and while there was no storm, she was suddenly reminded of the last time she had stood at a door, looking into the darkness and hearing only silence, and wondering. She could hear her heart beat in her ears as she took first one step, then another into the darkened room, her eyes trying to distinguish one shape from another. 

As her sight slowly adjusted, due mostly to the dim light filtering in from the hallway, she could see the rumpled covers of Toby’s bed, the empty pillow where his head should have been resting. The knot in her belly twisted sharply, once, and then seemed to drop through the floor. Past the roaring in her ears she realised Karen had come up behind her, and was asking what was wrong. the door stood fully open now, and the light revealed the empty bed. She turned away slowly, hearing Karens voice turn from simply annoyed into panicked as she flicked on the light and began to search for Toby. 

She began to descend the stairs, still dazed, while her father ran up the stairs in response to Karens frantic cries. As she reached the bottom of the stairs they both came out of Tobys room and called down to her. 

“Sarah, he’s gone! He’s not here... oh God...” Sarah felt something snap inside her, and without another word or a look back to her parents, she began to run. The door was flung open, and she leapt from the porch onto the road.

“Sarah, wait!” the cries of her family grew dimmer as she ran, ran faster than she ever had, to the only place on earth where she instinctively knew there was a connection with the Underground – with Jareth. Her bare feet pounded the earth with every step, and now she heard nothing but the blood rushing in her ears. She flashed in and out of the golden pools of light cast by streetlights, flickering like a firefly in the night. The cold air swirled around her, unfelt now when before it had caused her to shiver. A silver disc high above, the moon now slid out from its protective veil of cloud, lighting the road before her.

The park once more came into view over the crest of a hill, bridge gleaming in the moonlight, grass shivering blackly in the chill breeze. Sarah ran to the bridge and stood at its base, her breath streaming around her like mist, chest heaving. 

“Jareth!” it came out in a gasp, and she forced herself to slow her breathing, leaning on the edge of the bridge for support. Cold from the stones seeped into her fingers and stung her blistered bare feet. Taking a breath she tried again. 

“Jareth! I know you can hear me… take me back!” The wind picked up, causing the trees surrounding the park to sway back and forth, and hurrying the clouds back in front of the moon. Sarah heard no sound apart from the hiss of the wind and the creaking of icy limbs.

“ _Jareth_!” Even as she screamed his name, she knew that he could not hear her, would not hear her. He had closed the door behind her so thoroughly that no gap remained to peer through from one place into the next. Sarah tightened her hands on the stone railing, not feeling the dry flaky lichen that lodged itself under her fingernails. Bastard.

Frustration and rage began to burn through Sarah’s veins. Thoughts of Toby, of her family, of the stolen years wasted in the Underground, of the hunger and fear and isolation swirled thickly like a blizzard in her brain, each one a point of white light that to her inner eye began to gather into a ball in her chest. She felt as if she was growing, expanding, her emotions which had gone for so long with no real outlet bubbling under her skin, sending roots of blazing power through her feet and downwards, towards the very center of the earth. Green light intertwined with the white, building until Sarah felt as if she were a tower, her head brushing the clouds, able to step across oceans. 

Sarah’s will burst forth in a scream, torn from her mouth by the wind that now whirled around her, spraying her skin with a shower of dirt and leaves. To the eyes of her father, who was running across the park towards her, she appeared to be at the center of a dust devil, head thrown back, fists clenched, and mouth open in a scream which was more felt than heard. And then – nothing, but the dust devil collapsing in on itself, creating a shockwave which knocked her father onto his back, winding him. By the time Robert gathered his breath and was able to shakily get to his feet, nothing remained where Sarah had been, nothing but the print of her bare feet sunken into the stone on which she had been standing.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOOMP... there it is.

It had been easy - too easy. Their arrival in the great city had been unimpeded, unremarkable. The streets were full of people; working, selling, buying, all as they should be. Not a single one met the eyes of the small royal party travelling down the center of the road. Jareth could not tell if this was because they were ignoring him and his men, or if they simply could not see them. The sensation was unsettling, and Jareth had no doubt it was somehow deliberately contrived to put him off his guard. Gritting his teeth, he spurred on his horse towards the High Kings inner circle, in which lay the enormous red stone palace. Bright, elegant banners and flags flew in the wind, the blood red and gold dragon of the High King lit occasionally by a stray sunbeam breaking through the roiling grey clouds. The air was hot and humid, and dust swirled around the horses’ legs in eddies. Cuinn at his side remained stoic, but Jareth knew he was feeling just as off balance as his Liege. 

Guards stood to attention outside the gatehouse, armour polished but also well worn, evidence of battles fought and won. Steely eyes did not waver for more than an instant as the party rode towards the great wooden doors, and yet Jareth somehow knew that these, at least, were aware of their existence. Hands were tightened ever so imperceptibly on weapons, and those seated on the horses wished they could reach for theirs. The doors slowly swung open at their approach, and appearing inside them was a figure Jareth knew only too well. Oighear, the King’s steward, pale face as expressionless and inscrutable as ever, extended an arm clad in icy blue robes towards them. Jareth halted and slid from his horse, motioning for his soldiers to do the same. 

“Your Majesty.” Oighear bowed slightly, voice polite and seemingly friendly, even if their face remained unchanged. Jareth nodded his head in return. 

“I seek an audience with His Majesty the Ard Righ.” He saw no point in the elaborate rituals and ceremonies that usually took place when seeking an audience with the King. Surely his coming was no surprise or secret. Although one pale eyebrow was raised at Jareth’s abruptness, Oighear simply nodded once and turned to walk back through the gatehouse and into the inner courtyard. Jareth indicated for his men to follow him, but a slender hand was raised and a voice floated back to them, “Your advisor may come. They, however, have not been given permission to approach His Imperial Majesty.” Fighting the urge to grind his teeth together again, Jareth caught Cuinn’s eye. Cuinn turned back and signalled to the soldiers to wait. 

As they cleared the gatehouse, young hostlers ran forwards to take the reins of their horses. Jareth was loathe to let go of Daithi, although he could not exactly ride him into the heart of the palace. A part of him would have felt better if he had been able to do so. The horse and he had been through many years together, and Jareth trusted him more than most people. With a final pat on the cheek, Jareth relinquished the reins, and lengthened his stride to match that of the tall figure who was walking through the decorative gardens in the palace courtyard. 

The espaliered fruit trees that grew against the outer walls were still covered in fruit, and hedges sculptured into fantastic shapes were dotted over the lush green lawns. Fountains gushed, the sound of falling water musical to the ears. Here and there courtiers walked, singly or in pairs, apparently enjoying the late summer gardens. Jareth did not waver or look to the side, but he nevertheless knew that eyes were on him. Guards at the palace doors, more ornately dressed but unmistakably battle scarred, stood to attention as Oighear reached them. Without anyone touching them the doors swung open to admit them. 

Light streamed through many large windows, making the hallway deceptively bright and friendly. The door to the throne room lay at the end of it, and Jareth quietly drew in a deep breath, sending his consciousness inside for a moment, only a little reassured by the bright green fire that met his inner eye. His magic was little diminished at present, but this far from the borders of his lands he had no way of replenishing it if he should have need to. There seemed little doubt that this would indeed become necessary, unless the King was in one of his rare benevolent moods. Oighear halted in front of the ornately carved doors. Precious metals and jewels were inlaid in the design, and a closer examination led to the discovery of unsettling, obscene figures nestled in amongst the vines and flowers that were carved upon it. Once again, heavy doors moved with no perceptible help, and now the throne room was before them. 

Jareth’s eyes were immediately drawn to the right, where he recognised the figure of Lady Caoilainn crouched upon the ground. Her face was thinner than he had ever seen it, cheeks sallow, eyes circled with dark shadows. She held her knees against her chest, seeming to disregard the rich robes she wore, and rocked backwards and forwards, weeping without a sound. Her hair lifted in a wind that Jareth could neither feel nor hear, and her robes moved in this same wind. As he looked, she opened her mouth and began to call or scream, but no sound emerged from her throat. She continued to cry out, rocking backwards and forwards, only to break off and bury her face in her hands. Jareth was shocked to see the state she was in, but forced himself to turn his eyes forward once more. Oighear had reached the throne and was kneeling deeply before the figure seated there. Jareth forced himself to do the same, hearing Cuinn’s sharply indrawn breath behind him. He raised himself up and looked towards the end of the room.

A child was sitting on the great golden throne, a black haired, beautiful child, with a smile that seemed benevolent and sunny, but eyes that very much belonged to an adult - a smug, confident adult who knew that they held the upper hand. Seated at his feet was another child, and Jareth recognised Toby, also thinner and pale as the Lady had been, dark circles under his eyes. However, Toby did not look as though he was despairing or distressed, instead his face looked at peace, a sweet smile on his lips. A careful look at his eyes revealed an eerily blank stare, dead and chilling. Jareth had dealt with the King once before when he was in this mood and form, and remembered how unpredictable and volatile he had been. 

The High King turned blue eyes towards him. “Oh, there you are,” his voice was sweet and husky, sounding as innocent as could be. “I was wondering when you were coming to play with us.” The lovely smile on the boy’s face became a smirk, and Jareth felt a chill run over him. 

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Jareth bowed his head once more, “I have come before you to… beg a favour.” Cold sweat began to trickle down the back of his neck.

“Oh really?” the boy’s eyebrow went up, and the smirk became a sneer. “Surely you didn't come all this way just to ask for your tame human back.” he reached out a hand and grabbed a handful of Toby’s hair, pulling his head back to look into those vacant eyes. Toby’s expression did not change, he continued to smile happily, although his head was being pulled back at an uncomfortable angle. 

“You know, Jareth, I always thought you and your family were a bit mad, taking all those humans from their world, keeping them for yourself. Perhaps you were right all along.” he released Toby’s hair, brushing his hand together to dislodge the hairs he’d pulled from the boy’s head. “Had I known they would all be as… cooperative and obedient as this, I’d have taken one long ago as a pet.” His hand now stroked Toby’s hair, deceptively gentle. “Perhaps you’d best run along back to your stinking bog and quaint labyrinth, there’s a good boy. I think I’ll keep this one.” Eyes as blue as sapphires were colder than the heart of an ice mountain. Jareth swallowed once, and spoke.

“If it pleases your Majesty, I wish to return the boy to his own world. I made a promise-” he was cut off by a silvery laugh.   
“Oh, it was a promise, was it? And promises must always be honoured, even unspoken ones.” another laugh, this one like icicles shattering on the ground. “Perhaps that should have been considered when you brought this precious little thing into my palace, knowingly defying and deceiving me.” The smile had disappeared now, and the clear eyes darkened as though clouds had suddenly covered a blue sky. A faint rumbling could be heard in the distance - a storm gathering. Jareth’s eyes glanced once more towards the Lady, who was sitting with her head on her knees, hands hanging to the ground limply. Following his gaze, the High King grinned suddenly, looking once more like a mischievous child. 

“Now, doesn’t that look like a fun game to play? I thought, since she was so fond of you and your pets. that she might like to join in. Of course, she’s not quite playing the same one as we are.” Another rumbling of thunder now, muted as it travelled through layers of stone to reach them. The King flicked a tiny piece of purple fire in Caoilainn’s direction, causing her head to jerk upwards and look around, as though she had heard a voice. Her mouth opened soundlessly, and Jareth could see his name being formed on her lips. She continued to look from side to side, stopping every now and then to listen. Her lips were dry and cracking, and tiny drops of blood oozed out of them. Tearing his eyes away, Jareth forced himself to focus on the King, who had stood, and was leaning against one arm of his throne. 

“So, unless you are staying to play… I believe you have been dismissed.” a flick of the wrist, and Jareth heard the doors behind him opening. “I’m terribly sorry you had to come all this way for nothing, but as I’m feeling charitable today, I’ll let you return to your lands with your life intact. Although…” he paused and his eyes slid behind Jareth, to Cuinn, and flashed purple for a second “… I think you may first need to be taught a lesson.” 

Feeling a sudden sickness in his gut, Jareth spun around quickly to see Cuinn’s face change, his eyes bulge slightly, his mouth open in a gasp of air that never made it to his lungs. With a jerk of his head, his eyes rolled closed, and he crumpled slowly, almost gently to the ground. Jareth knelt beside him, stripping the glove from his right hand. he felt at the base of Cuinn’s neck, knowing as he did that he would find nothing. A hot anger began to rise within him, and taking a second to try and control it, he stood slowly once more facing the King. The boy’s face was now that of a sorrowful parent, who, having dealt out an unsavoury discipline, now sought to comfort the child who had received it. He sat once more on his throne, hand going out to stroke Toby’s head.

Jareth fought to control the grief that was warring with anger and fear within him. His teeth ground together, and he could do nothing to stop his fists clenching at his side. The fingernails of his right hand dug into his palm, the pain acting as a focus point. The King had demonstrated his power and how far he was willing to go, there was little Jareth could do on his own to stop him from taking further lives. There was little else to do now but walk away and leave his former lover, Toby, and the body of his faithful advisor and friend - yes, friend, Jareth realised suddenly. Cuinn had been with him for many decades, and had been more to him than a mentor. Jareth met the King’s eyes, which had now become slightly mocking. He dug his nails in still further, feeling warmth begin to drip down his palm and splash onto the marble. 

A long, rolling growl of thunder shook the floor beneath their feet slightly. Power pulsed in the air, not coming from any of those present, but from elsewhere, somewhere Jareth could not quite place. The air in front of him seemed to collapse inwards for a moment, before a deafening roar followed seconds later. 

Jareth was thrown backwards onto the marble floor with the force of the shockwave. All the windows in the great hall exploded outwards, and a hot wind rushed inwards. From the corner of his eye, he saw Caoilainn also knocked over, and Toby fell sideways from the steps of the throne to the floor. The High King stumbled slightly but otherwise remained unmoved, surprise briefly registering on his face. He raised a hand, ready to strike.

Sarah, a funnel of dirt and leaves spinning around her, stood in the middle of the room, swaying slightly. She had not yet turned to look behind her, but Jareth knew the moment she saw Toby in front of her. She started to move forward, and Jareth saw the High King point a finger towards her, dark purple fire gathering on its tip. 

“No!” Jareth reached forward, grabbing Sarah’s shoulder with his right hand, intending to pull her out of the way before she was struck. The moment his hand came into contact with her, he felt a surge of the power within him, felt something uncurl rapidly and writhe to find its way out. The point where he was touching her became instantly agonizing, as heat greater than any he had felt before seemed to meld his skin to hers. The urge to scream was almost overwhelming, and Jareth gritted his teeth against it. Sarah was unable to resist and a primal sound, halfway between a roar and a groan, burst from her. 

Magic, vivid green and almost blinding bright, began to gather around them, streaming from the place they touched. Sarah screamed again, a guttural noise, and Jareth found himself beginning to shake. Spots of white began to cloud his vision, and he was dimly aware of purple fire breaking up and flowing around the two of them. Fighting for control, and unable to take his hand away from Sarah’s shoulder, he seized the chance to channel some of the almost-overwhelming magic towards Caoilainn. It broke over her like a wave, and she scrambled to her feet, eyes properly focusing on her surroundings. She took in the scene before her - childlike High King, with the human boy Toby at his feet, magic streaming from him towards Jareth and an unknown young human, who were underneath a blazing dome of power. At Jareth’s feet lay Cuinn, unmoving, and Caoilainn knew in a moment that he was dead. Quickly gathering what magic she could after long disuse, she fought against the weakness that days of hunger had brought upon her. Her magic showed itself as copper, glowing ever brighter as she steadied herself and cleared her mind. 

Jareth felt as though his skin would burst from his body with the sheer force of power flowing underneath it. In it he felt Sarah, felt her frustration and rage, her despair and her driving will, and the force of her feelings towards her brother. He struggled to unclench his teeth and open his mouth to speak, instead he tried to reach her mind. 

“ _Sarah! Control_!” was all he could manage, but it was enough to catch her attention. He felt her mind, lost in the overwhelming sensations and emotions, focus on his for a moment. It was enough, and he wrapped his consciousness around her own, pulling the streaming magic inwards, focusing it.   
“ _Jareth_?” She sounded/felt confused, and he sensed her desire to go to her brother. There was no time to explain to her everything that had happened, so instead he sent her a flood of images, ending with Cuinn falling to the floor, and his own grief. Movement to his right brought his attention back to the throne room, and he saw Caoilainn standing, felt her gathering her magic to herself. She looked over to him, and their eyes locked for a moment. A small nod from her was all he needed to know what she intended, and he nodded back, gathering his and Sarah’s combined power to focus on one concentrated attack. Thunder rolled outside, and the storm broke in earnest, rain beginning to pour inwards through the smashed windows. 

Caoilainn took a deep breath, and sent out a tendril of power towards Toby, intending to break the thrall that held him so tightly. Copper fire wrapped around him and flashed for a moment, then disappeared. Jareth saw this and raised one arm to point towards the High King, Sarah mirroring his actions. Toby shook himself once, blinked, and looked around, terror and wonder on his face as he took in the scene before him. He saw Sarah, recognising her despite her shorn hair and strange clothes, and Jareth behind her with one hand on her shoulder. The two of them glowed at the centre of a green vortex, and instinctively Toby tried to scramble backwards to get away from it. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked into a face he remembered from his dreams, sweet smile and dreamy blue eyes. even as he watched those eyes turned icy, and the smile became malicious. An unseen force held him now, his arms and legs beginning to move involuntarily, until he stood and walked forward, coming between where the beautiful boy stood, and his sister and Jareth stood together.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

Gwyneth had been speaking with the housekeeper when she felt it; a sensation of the floor dropping out from underneath her feet. Her lungs suddenly strained for air, and she stumbled, hand going to her head, feeling a sudden emptiness behind her eyes. Ingrid was unaffected, and she moved forward quickly to assist her Lady, supporting her with an arm under one elbow, guiding her to a chair. Her breath, when it came again, came raggedly, and she could not hear the housekeeper’s voice over the roaring in her ears. Closing her eyes, she could see thin fibres of midnight blue fire flowing away from herself, mixing with numerous strands of bright, leafy green that rose up through the floor and twisted themselves around her temporarily on their way to elsewhere, like flowing smoke. Weakness overtook her and her head lolled to one side, and she slid from the chair onto the stone floor.

All across the capital city of the Goblin King, all Fae and human who possessed the Sight could see the tendrils of green streaming from the ground and all living plants, flowing now like a great river towards the King’s highway. They could not watch the sight for long, however, as their own magic began to drain away as Gwyneth’s had, and those with no magic were occupied in carrying, supporting, and trying to rouse those who had fallen. The blacksmith, whose magic was sooty and dark with silver sparks, was found slumped over an anvil by his apprentice, red hot horseshoe still gripped in tongs in one hand, hammer fallen to the ground. The young Fae woman who oversaw the weaving house was curled up in a ball, eyes tightly shut, as her pale blue magic left her in rivulets through the air. Eamon, languishing in a cell, watched bright yellow-orange drain from his fingertips, before unconsciousness claimed him. 

From the great stone in the center of the labyrinth, power gushed forth like a great spring of water, throwing green sparks high into the air, before it ran in a rushing torrent to the south. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

As soon as Toby had been forced to stand between them and the High King, Jareth had lowered his raised hand. Sarah had done the same, although the energy still swirled around them both, gathering speed. Rain was spreading all over the floors in huge puddles, and outside the thunder still raged. The High King stood, smugly, arms folded across his chest.

“Oh yes, your precious human. How nice of him to offer himself as my personal shield. And here I thought you were about to do something rash. So glad I was mistaken.” the sarcasm dripped like poison from his lips, and Sarah felt her innards turn at the sound of his voice. Toby was staring at her with his eyes wide, pleading, mouth unable to form the words he longed to say to his sister. “So predictable, this human weakness. It would seem to be contagious also, or perhaps you inherited it from your father. He certainly had enough to go around.” he sneered at Jareth as he said this, and Jareth felt his insides go cold. He was beyond rage now, so much adrenaline was coursing through his body that he felt his hands and feet becoming numb, detached. 

His fingers tightened convulsively on Sarah’s shoulder. She turned her head slightly and looked Jareth in the eye for the first time since she had come back. Her eyes were red rimmed, tears flowing down through the dirt on her cheeks, and sweat stood out all over her face. Her entire body was shaking slightly from the unaccustomed force of magic flowing through it. As their eyes met, an unspoken signal seemed to pass between them. There were no barriers between them, there could be none in the face of their bond, and petty grievances of the past had no place there. There was only a united desire to keep those they cared for, safe. Sarah knew this, as she knew also that Jareth counted herself, Toby, and Caoilainn amongst them. A small smile curved one corner of her mouth at this realisation, and was answered by a spark in Jareth’s eyes. Whatever it took, whatever the cost, she knew she was now willing to give her all. 

Caoilainn watched the King carefully, part of her attention still on Jareth, waiting to see what his next move would be. Even combined, she was still unsure that their magic together would be enough to overcome the power of the Ard Righ. She watched Jareth and the human exchange a quick glance, and then he turned to look at her for a moment. His eyes flicked to Toby, then back to her, and she nodded imperceptibly. Gathering herself up once more, she began to mouth the words that would weave her magic into a protective shield. 

Even as he began to pull the magic swirling around Sarah and himself back inside, Jareth became aware of something at the outer edges of his awareness. It began as a tickling sensation, as though someone with a blade of grass in their hand was flicking it over his skin lightly. It grew more persistent, demanded his attention. The High King’s eyes widened slightly, and Jareth could now see, flowing at him through the open doorway, a rivulet of green, laced all over with flecks of many colours. It was pooling around his feet now, the stream growing wider and flowing faster. Where it touched him felt like he was being plunged into an icy mountain stream, and he sucked air in sharply. Sarah’s body jerked once as she felt a similar sensation. They both perceived a new sensation flowing through them, as though their blood was being replaced by some new, effervescent liquid. Every hair on Sarah’s body rose upright, and she felt as though lightning was gathering in the air, preparing to strike. Jareth’s hand, still on Sarah’s shoulder, felt as though it was made of molten metal, with the intensity of magic passing between the two of them. 

All this had taken mere moments to pass, and the High King had not been idle during those seconds. He recovered from his surprise and began to gather himself once more, preparing to obliterate this annoyance for good. He pressed his palms together, then pulled them apart, power gathering in a concentrated ball between them. When he spoke it was no longer with a child’s voice, but with a deep, snarling man’s voice, reflecting his true form. 

“Jareth, for your willing assault against the Crown, you are sentenced to destruction. Not an atom of you or any who carry your bloodline will remain when I have carried out my justice.” The child King laughed now, an unpleasant, uncanny sound coming from the throat of a small boy. Caoilainn looked to Jareth briefly, saw his hand raise itself up, and leapt forwards towards the small human boy still standing frozen before the High King. Sarah/Jareth, swimming in a sea of green sparked all over with every colour imaginable, drew in a deep breath, and released…

The world went white and silent. Sarah felt herself dissolving, floating in a sea of exquisite pain. Dimly she was aware on a different level of stones falling around her, striking her physical form, dust being inhaled into lungs that somehow still functioned. Her brain felt as though it had melted into liquid inside her skull. Then she knew nothing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the palace of the Goblin King, a muffled boom was heard by those who were still conscious. Cracks appeared in the outer walls, and the roof collapsed in at several points, with a roar of falling masonry. Vast tracts of hedges in the labyrinth immediately withered and died, becoming brown and shrivelled in a second; entire sections of the labyrinth walls crumbled into dust and rubble. The castle itself still stood, superficially damaged but otherwise whole. 

At the heart of the labyrinth, the great carved stone sank a little, leaned to one side, and came to rest still upright. Gwyneth and those who had fallen with her stopped breathing for a moment, then collectively drew in a huge lungful of air, resting easier somehow. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rain fell, incessant. 

It roused Sarah long enough that she was able to roll, slowly and painfully, onto her side. Her insides felt as though they had turned to ash, and were becoming sodden in the rain. She felt pieces of the rubble poking her hip bones and ribs, and the continual dull throbbing that came from her left leg made her doubt she could walk, even if she ever could summon the energy to stand again. She cracked her eyes open slightly, saw dust, stone and darkened sky. Closing them again, she raised one hand to her face, gingerly feeling the multiple small cuts and bruises that seemed to cover its entire surface. 

Exhausted, she let her hand fall once again to her side, but it landed against cold flesh that was not her own. Without opening eyes that now stung from the fine rock dust being washed from the sky and onto her face, she inched the hand forwards slowly, feeling torn fabric, skin, and dampness. Suddenly she had to know. 

Gathering what strength was left inside her, Sarah shifted her hand to the ground, and pushed herself up slowly, painfully, until she was leaning on one elbow. Opening her eyes, she saw him sprawled on his back, like a doll that had been flung down by a petulant child. His shoulder was closest to her, and it was this part of him she had been touching, the cloth of his shirt torn in a dozen places. Through many of those rents she glimpsed blood, and was thankful in a perverse way that the darkness of the fabric prevented the full extent of his injuries from being known. Like her, he was covered in mud and dust. His right hand was curled tightly into a fist, the other lay limp at his side.

Sarah leant down to wipe the mud from Jareth’s face, carefully, gently, with fingers that shook with fatigue. His eyes were closed, and for a moment she couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Holding her hand above his mouth, she felt the faintest of stirrings, enough to let her know that he was alive. Blood streamed from a wound above his temple, staining his pale hair with crimson. Unable to support her own weight any longer, she lowered herself, as slowly as she was able, and lay herself down next to him on the rubble. Allowing her eyes to close again, she drifted, unaware of the passing of time, thankful for the cold rain as it numbed the many aches and wounds on her body. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Years, or perhaps moments later, a hand touching her face roused her. Slender fingers traced her face, moving over her closed eyelids, down her nose, across cheekbones, and brushed her lips. She made herself open her eyes and was startled to see a pair of mismatched eyes looking into her own. Jareth had managed to roll onto his side also, and his face was mere centimeters from hers. The bleeding from his temple no longer flowed freely, and the rain was washing the blood down his face and away. He was pale, as exhausted looking as she felt, but the spark in his eyes had not been totally extinguished. The hand that had been closed remained so, and he held it against his chest, the fingers bloodstained. She reached for his fist with one hand, closing her fingers around it gently. Mismatched eyes met green, and both knew that nothing would be able to go back as things once were.

A name came to her now, dropping into the soup that was her brain. _Toby_. Her tongue was too clumsy to form the word properly, but she tried anyway. 

“ _Toby_.” Jareth attempted to nod, failed, grimaced, and closed his eyes again for a moment. When he opened them, he drew in a deep breath and tried to haul himself upright. Sarah tried the same, stopping frequently to breathe through the pain that throbbed in her leg. She had just gained her knees when the pain from her leg washed over her in a black wave, making her stomach roll. Fighting the nausea she slumped down to the ground once more, trying to breathe slowly through her nose. Jareth stood shakily, and looking to where he thought he had last seen Caoilainn, limped slowly across the rubble of the ruined room. 

Bright cloth covered with a layer of dust lay in a heap at the base of the steps that led to the throne. Hair that was golden red was now darkened by dirt and rain, and streaked with blood. Feeling his stomach clench in dread, he dropped to his knees, reaching out with his left hand to touch the still form. Pulling the hair away revealed one side of Caoilainn’s face, a bloodied mess. With a groan, Jareth tried to roll her over gently with one hand, an action which caused the Lady to gasp suddenly and jerk to one side. Feeling intense relief wash over him at the sound of her breath, Jareth could now see that she had been curled around Toby, protecting him with her body as well as her magic. He appeared to be sleeping, hands tightly curled into fists under his chin, knees drawn up to his chest. His blonde hair was also darkened by rain and stone dust, but was unbloodied. His chest rose and fell regularly, and he was unharmed as far as Jareth could see.

“Jareth?” Sarah’s voice croaked from where she lay amongst the stones. “Is he…?” Jareth turned to her and nodded.

“All right.” He tried to smile but could not. Turning back to Caoilainn, he placed a hand on her forehead, trying not to touch the open wound for fear of making it worse. Perhaps there had been a break in her shield and the High King’s magic had struck her before she could close it. Perhaps she had been hit by a falling stone. The “how” hardly mattered now. More than ever before Jareth regretted his lack of knowledge of healing. He doubted that he had enough magic within him to make any difference right now, even if he knew what he was doing. Her undamaged eye was moving behind its lid, and she groaned deep in her throat, but remained unconscious. Jareth was relieved in a way, it was probably more merciful for her to remain so until help could be sought from others. 

From the half-collapsed doorway came a sound, like someone was trying to move past the rubble that blocked it. Jareth had no energy left to defend himself or anyone else in the room, and sat by Caoilainn and Toby, feeling as though his body was an empty shell. After some moments the rubble shifted, and the form of an armoured soldier broke through into the room. Not a soldier in the High King’s livery, but bearing the image of a great white Hound on a field of greens and browns. He knew it, but was having trouble accessing the part of his brain that could correctly identify whose it was. A tall, Fae man stepped through now, black haired and somewhat more muscular than many of the slender men of his kind. 

“Jareth?” the voice triggered a memory in Jareth’s head, and a name was supplied. “Conall.” his voice was a croak, and he swallowed convulsively, trying to rid it of the dust that he had inhaled. 

“My… informants gave me knowledge of your arrival, and I thought it best to come as quickly as I could… seeing as it was my information that brought you here in the first place.” he climbed carefully over the rubble towards Jareth, more of his men following him through the door and into what was left of the room. They fanned out as they entered, forming a protective guard around Conall. “I confess I did not expect you to have had all the fun without me.” he smiled wolfishly, and Jareth attempted his usual smirk in response. 

“Won’t do it again next time…” he accepted the leather water skin Conall handed him and drank gratefully, “Promise. You know what this means for you now.” Conall nodded, his dark eyes serious. He got down on one knee and touched the Lady gently on the face. 

“I deeply regret her involvement in this. It would seem I now owe her, and you, even more favours. Not the best way for a High King to begin his reign, in deep debt to others.”

“If you owe a debt to anyone, it would have been to my father. He was, after all, the one who sheltered you and your mother when she fled to our palace,” he stopped and coughed long and deep, feeling the muscles in his body wrench in pain as he did. One of Conall’s men had discovered Sarah, and picking her up carefully, brought her over to where Conall and Jareth now sat together in the rubble. The soldier laid her down next to Caoilainn and Toby. She appeared to have fainted, probably from pain, and seeing her upper leg skewed at a somewhat unnatural angle Jareth was sure it was preferable to being awake and in agony. Almost absentmindedly, Jareth took one of her hands in his uninjured one. The hand that had rested on her shoulder felt as though it had been dipped in molten lava, and he kept his fingers tightly curled, doing his best to ignore it.

“Your mother knew that your father brooked no opposition, no inconvenient sons or daughters to contest his place in the throne. She also knew enough of my family to realise that perhaps we were more… sympathetic than many of the other courtiers.” Conall nodded at this. He knew he owed his life to Jareth’s parents, who had instilled in him from a young age a sense of duty regarding his parentage, as well as the need for absolute secrecy. He had bided his time for years and years, hiding his identity in plain sight, until the moment was right. Jareth’s victory was somewhat unexpected, as he was nowhere near as powerful as the High King, and Conall was still unsure how it had been accomplished. When he was sure Jareth was on his way to the castle he had set out also, seeing it as an opportune time. He had not expected things to come to a head as quickly as they had, but he was grateful nonetheless. 

Standing now, Conall made his way to the mangled throne at the head of the room, stopping once to look downwards at what now remained of his father. In death he had returned to his true form, and his black hair, silver at the temples, swept back to reveal his face, cold and cruel even in death. With no regret in his heart Conall ascended the steps and sat on the throne. He spoke in a clear ringing voice.

“By the right of my blood, I lay claim to this throne as son and heir.” A deep green wave of magic appeared and seemed to flow downward like water, leaping and bounding over every stone and person there to cover the entire room. Jareth felt it rush over him like a soothing wave, cooling the fire of his injuries somewhat. 

“So it is witnessed!” Every throat shouted the reply, and then cheers broke out from the throats of Conall’s men. Jareth was more reserved, but could not help feeling an intense relief at the outcome. He let go of Sarah’s hand and slowly rose until he was on one knee.

“My Liege. I swear fealty to you as my King and Lord.” He bowed his head, and when he raised it, he could see gratitude in Conall’s face. 

“Now, we must restore order. The palace grounds are in chaos, courtiers fluttering everywhere like frightened butterflies,” he grinned, and Jareth grinned in reply “There were no guards at their places left to deny me entry into the courtyard.” he shook his head at this. “There is work to be done, but first let me restore you and your companions to your own lands. I suspect you need to give yourself time to replenish your power and to heal. Shall I take the Lady Caoilainn to her own estate?” he descended the throne once more and went to her, kneeling again at her side and removing one heavy, studded glove to gently brush the dirt and small stones that still lay all over her. A futile exercise, but he seemed intent on it. Jareth watched him for a moment, then spoke.  
“I would have her return to my castle for now, as the journey would be shorter for her than travelling to her own. She will need healing, and soon.” Conall nodded. His hand hovered above her damaged face for a moment, and Jareth could see an expression of regret and something else flash across his own face. 

“The best possible care will be available to you all. My own healers…” Jareth stopped him with an outstretched hand. 

“Please. I believe at this point I only trust my cousin. She has sufficient skill, as you know.” Conall knew Gwyneth well from his time growing up at their castle, and nodded at Jareth’s words. “When you are passing through our lands on your Royal tour, do stop in and greet us.” Jareth grinned wickedly, looking from Conall to Caoilainn. Conall may have flushed slightly as he stood again, and clapped Jareth on the shoulder. 

“Come then. Let us restore you to your rightful place, as you have helped restore me to mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I'm going away and I can't space out the last three chapters, so here! *crams them all down your throat*


	23. Chapter Twenty Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rating changes intensify*

Healing takes time, and patience. Sarah had had to learn patience in her years in the Underground, which was just as well, for she was now forced to remember the lesson. Her leg was broken cleanly, the bone unshattered, which meant a good recovery if only she would remain still. No longer staying in her garden shed, she had been brought back to the guest chambers she had once spent the night in. It was, Sarah felt, an indication of her changed status. No longer the hired help, upgraded to privileged guest, but still with no clear role or purpose. 

After sleeping for nearly three days through, awakening once or twice to cram as much food into his mouth as he could before falling asleep into his plate, Toby was up and back to his usual, mischievous self. He roamed the castle freely, usually trailed by a group of ragged goblins and the odd chicken, and his laughter could often be heard echoing down the hallways, and into the rooms of those who were still abed. He played with human and goblin children alike, and seemed to be thriving in this strange place. 

Jareth only allowed Gwyneth to keep him in his chambers for a day and a half. The wound on his head was healing well, and although it pained him almost constantly, his hand was healing also. To Gwyneth, it looked as though the skin had been completely burned off the surface of his palm and fingers. There was no reason it should not heal well, provided her pig-headed cousin could be persuaded to only use it lightly. 

Caoilainn’s recovery was slower. The wound covered a large part of her face, from the middle of her forehead across to her cheek to her right ear. She had been sleep and food deprived as Toby had, but was not recovering from her ordeal as swiftly as he. Infection set in, and Gwyneth was kept fully occupied for a few days, battling it as best she could with tinctures and poultices, reinforced with healing magic. It was unclear as to the fate of her damaged eye, and Jareth’s forehead seemed to be permanently creased with worry. 

Cuinn’s body had been borne solemnly back to the castle, and with a ceremony which all attended, with the exception of those who could not leave their rooms, had been interred with honour in the crypts that belonged to Jareth’s own family. The walls, stairs, every nook and cranny, had been crowded with goblins, humans, and Fae. Jareth had stood, pale and still battle marked, for a long time at the entrance to the tomb, even after the door had been sealed. Only Gwyneth dared approach to stand beside him, and only she saw the deep emotions on his face that he struggled to keep under control. She said nothing, only stood nearby until he turned and strode towards the stairs that led back up to the castle hall. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sarah had found her way down to the kitchens one afternoon, when Gwyneth released her from complete bedrest, and she was given a wooden crutch to make getting about easier. Cruet sat her down at once and fed her a feast of good things, and told her what she wanted to know about the Lady Caoilainn. Sarah now recognized her from the tales Cruet had told her before, and heard all that the cook knew about their former dalliance. She shrank from this knowledge, although she never asked Cruet to stop telling her everything. Knowing that she had no right to feel that way, no claim on the time or affections of the Goblin King, even after what had happened to them both, she fought back guilt and jealousy. The Lady had saved her brother for her, almost at the cost of her own life, and Sarah was so very grateful towards her. 

She even stood in the doorway of Caoilainn’s room one afternoon, leaning on her crutch, watching the sleeping face of the still-beautiful noblewoman, her sunset hair clean now and spread over the pillow, skin pale where it remained uncovered by bandages. She took care never to be there when the Lady was awake, as she felt awkward and clumsy around her, not knowing how to react or how to appropriately express her feelings. Jareth spent many hours sitting with Caoilainn, holding one hand, giving her the news of the new High King when she was awake. Sarah tried not to think about it. Jareth had seen her very little since they had returned to his palace, apart from visiting her once or twice while she was still bedridden. During those visits he had only stood in the doorway, asked after her health in what she felt was a very dispassionate tone, and taken his leave after a few uncomfortable sentences. Sarah felt the potency of their connection fading away, and wondered if perhaps she had imagined its strength. Now and then the scarred handprint on her shoulder throbbed and ached, and she rubbed it with her hand, trying to forget how it had come to be. 

Gwyneth had her own theories on what had occurred in the High King’s palace. She felt sure that the unusual bond that had been formed, was because of the blood that had been on Jareth’s hand when he reached out to touch Sarah, having cut his own palms with his fingernails. Blood was a powerful factor in working magic, and particularly in sealing magical contracts. His own grandfather had first forged his bond to the land with a blood seal. A combination of need, force of will, and timing had caused Sarah to become almost like a booster, amplifying Jareth’s magic to a level higher than it usually reached. Their connection had also been strong enough to reach the source of their magic at the centre of the Labyrinth, and, feeling their need, it had responded instinctively by pulling magic from every available source that it could, before sending it to the two of them. There was no way of knowing for sure without experimentation, and Sarah found she simply was not willing to repeat such an experience. Parts of her mind still felt as though they were turned inside out, and she now avoided Jareth as willingly as he seemed to be avoiding her. 

Several weeks passed, and the air grew cooler. Harvest time was over, and leaves fell from trees in great swathes of scarlet, yellow, and orange. Sarah abandoned her crutch, and apart from time spent playing with and getting to know Toby all over again, found she had very little to do. Although she had heard through castle gossip that Eamon had been pardoned and released to his former duties, guilt at her part in his imprisonment kept her away from the stables. From force of habit she found herself wandering down to Gwyneth’s workplace again and again, and picking up where she had left off so abruptly. Gwyneth said nothing when Sarah joined her the first time, only raised one eyebrow and gave a faint smile of welcome. 

She began to fall into her old rhythm, rising early and going out to the gardens, careful to keep her new, finer garments from becoming dirty, and the working with Gwyneth inside preparing medicines and teas. Her roughly chopped off hair was beginning to grow again, although it still remained scandalously short in the eyes of many women in the castle. There was less to do outside as time went on, the whole garden beginning to hunker down for the cold season. During the quieter times, Gwyneth taught her what she could about controlling her magic, how to contain, focus, and use it intentionally, rather than as a response to danger. It took Sarah some time to grasp the concepts that she was being shown, but once she understood the basic principle, she learned quickly. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was sitting in Gwyneth’s work room alone, on a high wooden stool, when he found her, the late afternoon setting sun streaming in through the glass doors. Her pale, fine linen dress glowed orange in the sun’s setting rays. As she had so often since that day, she seemed to be staring blankly into nothing, eyes unfocused. Jareth entered quietly, not wanting to startle her. She did not look up when he came in, even though she knew very well who was entering the room so silently. The joining of magic that had occurred between them meant that both were aware of the other’s presence at all times. Sarah found it disconcerting, as though part of her was always walking somewhere else. He came and stood beside her at the workbench. He was dressed for riding, and had already spent much of the day in the saddle, surveying some of the damage that had been wrought to the outer walls of the city and the labyrinth beyond. It was nothing that could not be repaired, given time and resources, but with the weather growing colder each day, it was work that had to be completed soon. 

Wincing a little, Jareth pulled the riding gloves slowly from his hands. The handprint he had left on Sarah's shoulder was healing now, gradually fading from a dark purple to red, and he traced it lightly with his fingertips. His right hand had healed enough that he could uncurl it properly, although the scar tissue matched Sarah’s for colour. They were each indelibly marked from the experience, physically as well as mentally. Sarah turned her head at his touch, acknowledging his presence for the first time. 

“It still aches, you know. My leg as well.”

“Yes, I know.” He flexed his fingers once more, trying to work out the stiffness made worse by holding the reins all day. 

“Is Lady Caoilainn…?” she let the question hang. 

“Gwyneth has reached the end of her expertise, I’m afraid. The scarring has been minimised, but I am afraid she has lost the vision in her eye.” he frowned as he spoke, and Sarah closed her eyes, guilt written on her face.

“I owe her so much… she protected Toby, kept him safe, when I didn’t know how.” Burying her face in her hands, she shuddered, reliving the experience, imagining how it could have ended differently. Taking in a deep, shaking breath, Sarah ran her hands over her cropped hair with fingers that trembled slightly. “It’s probably time for me - for us, to go back. Past time, really.” She laughed bitterly. Jareth placed both hands on the wooden countertop. His voice was carefully expressionless as he spoke.

“Back. Yes, I suppose it is the proper way it should be. After all, your family will be aware of Toby’s disappearance and searching for both of you now.” His brows drew together over the bridge of his nose, and a scowl now appeared on his face. Sarah tried to look anywhere but at him, feeling her eyes grow hot and stinging. After all the destruction her presence had ultimately caused, she was sure he would be pleased to see the back of her head, magical bond or no. Perhaps being in her own world would lessen the intensity of it, make it less uncomfortable to bear. 

Sliding off the stool and onto the ground, Sarah winced a little at the ache in her leg, favouring it slightly to ease the pain. She turned to walk towards the outer door leading to the garden, and paused. Jareth had not moved, both hands still on the bench top. She noticed that his fingers were curved slightly, as though he was digging them into the wood. 

“Jareth.” He said nothing, but turned to her after a moment, angular face seemingly carved from stone. Slowly, carefully, she reached out a hand towards him, stopping short of touching his arm. “After all that happened, after all that we went through together…” she stopped, and swallowed. His eyes were on her, and, as the sun slipped below the garden walls, they darkened also. More daring now, she took his scarred right hand, turned it over, and lifted it to her mouth.   
“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry…” timidly she pressed her lips to the ugly purple scar, feeling an answering twinge in her shoulder as she did so. Not daring now to look him in the face, she let go of it and turned from him quickly to leave the room. 

She had just reached the door, still limping, when a hand caught her arm from behind, and suddenly in one movement she was spun around, and pulled towards Jareth. A cry of pain as her bad leg gave way was muffled by his hungry, insistent lips on hers. It was nothing like her fantasies, and nothing like the clumsy advances of boys she had known in school. It was rough, and awkward, and felt like she had touched an open wire. Jareth smelled like dirt and leather and horse, his mouth now moving from hers to trail over her face to her ear, where he hungrily nipped at her earlobe, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. She gasped, feeling as though the breath had been driven from her lungs. Moving down to her neck, he fastened there none too gently, and she could feel his slightly pointed teeth digging into her skin as he alternately sucked and bit. 

His arms held her up, kept her from falling, and she clung to his shirt with one hand, the other reaching up to bury itself in his pale hair. His hands were everywhere at once, as though he needed to know every inch of her was indeed there. A moan escaped from her lips before she could stop it, and he growled into her neck in answer, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down her spine. His hands now found her backside, and he lifted her into the air, turning them around and moving until Sarah felt the wooden countertop pressing into the base of her spine. He lifted her up onto it and she tried to wrap her legs around his waist, but found her skirts were getting in the way. Impatiently, Jareth reached down and grasped one side of her skirt, and pulled sharply, the material giving way with a loud rip. Shocked, Sarah was about to protest the ruin of her garment when Jareth claimed her mouth once more with his own. 

She pressed herself into him, legs as tightly wrapped around him as her injury would allow, and with her hands began to tug off his riding jacket, sliding her palms over his chest as she did so. The leather jacket fell to the ground, and she pulled at the laces of his shirt. The sound of glass breaking behind her made her pause for a moment and turn her head, lips leaving Jareth’s to see what they had shattered. With an impatient noise, he reached behind her to sweep all of Gwyneth’s bottles and glassware from the counter in a single motion, sending them smashing to the floor. The noise seemed to waken her from the daze she had fallen into, and she turned to face Jareth now, her eyes uncertain. His face was in shadow and he spoke in a low voice, almost a snarl.

“You are mine now, _mine_. We belong to each other, I know you feel it, you’ve felt the connection between us. We are no longer separate.” As he spoke she knew it was true. Leaving? It was unthinkable, laughable. She might as well consider leaving her arms or legs behind. Their souls had become tangled into each other, magic unifying the two. To separate now would be to suffer. 

She looked into his eyes, and in reply leaned forward and kissed his mouth, gently at first, then with growing confidence as she felt him leaning further into their embrace. Their tongues brushed against each other, tasting, exploring, exchanging hot breaths. Her hands became occupied once more with untying the laces of his linen shirt, which was stained with sweat and dirt. Jareth’s hands slid up the outside of her thighs, and she felt herself jump as they reached her rough linen undergarments. Just as she was wondering how much of a barrier they would pose, she felt his fingers slide up inside them, and with a jerk and another sound of tearing cloth, they came away. Sarah was sure she would be bruised where the fabric had pulled against her waist before it gave way. 

She pulled clumsily at the last of the ties on his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, her fingers feeling the myriad of small scars left behind there, and the crescent shaped pendant he always wore shone dully in the lantern light. Jareth left her mouth abruptly and began to kiss her neck once more, his hands sliding still further up underneath her dress, halted only by the tightness of the laces that bound her bodice. Before he could completely destroy the dress, Sarah hurriedly undid the laces that ran down the front of the garment. Jareth took it as an invitation and ran his mouth down her neck, across her collarbone, and stopping once to press a kiss to the scarred handprint on her shoulder, descended yet lower. 

Everywhere that he touched her, with hands, lips and even his hair brushing against her skin, was like being on fire. It felt so much like the magic that had washed around them in the High Kings’s chamber, that when Sarah closed her eyes in ecstasy, she was not surprised to see the now familiar colour of their magic, flowing in and around both of them. Her eyes flew open again when she felt his mouth on the side of her breast, both his hands busy pushing the dress down off her shoulders. The room was mostly in shadow now, lit only by a single lantern glowing on a chain hung from the ceiling, but she still felt exposed and vulnerable. He gave her little time to dwell on the feeling, his mouth busy on her body, every flick of his tongue sending stabs of lightning into her belly. 

Her hands stopped moving, as she was overwhelmed by sensation, until he growled low once more and took one of them, guiding it downwards along his own body. There was no mistaking his intent, nor the extent of his desire for her, as she felt the hardness of him through the fabric. A little apprehensive now, she tugged at the first button of his linen riding breeches. It came undone, and she moved onto the second, encouraged by the noises he made as her hands moved over him. The third button was not so co-operative, and his mouth moved to her nipple, causing her to arch her back and lose her grip on it. A high pitched groan came from the back of her throat, and the sound seemed to drive Jareth to greater industry, his tongue circling, pressing his body even closer to hers. He was all lean muscle and heat, and she knew every place they touched as though he was burning her. Her hands reached out to hold onto him, nails digging into the skin of his back hard enough to make him raise his head momentarily from the task at which he was occupied. 

She took the brief opportunity to renew her attempts on his breeches, fumbling impatiently with the buttons, fingers feeling clumsy and awkward. A tug, and the third button popped, falling to the ground. The fourth button went the same way, and now she slid one hand downwards inside the fabric, eliciting a groan from him, his head falling back, eyes closing. His hips began to move, spiralling slightly, pressing himself into her hand. After a moment he opened his eyes again and looked straight into hers, hands coming up to grasp either side of her head and pull it upwards for a kiss. He roughly delved into her, alternately biting her lips and sucking her tongue into his mouth. Again he groaned, the sound muffled by their kiss, and let go of her face to slide his hands once more up underneath her dress, intending to drive her to distraction just as she was doing to him. 

Their breath was almost synchronised now, both gasping rhythmically. Sarah could feel sweat beginning to run down her spine, as she let herself go to the intensity that threatened to overwhelm her. When their bodies finally came together and began to move in unison, it was such a relief that she almost wept. Her leg throbbed horribly, her lips were swollen and sore from Jareth’s persistent mouth, and when she went to wrap her arms around Jareth’s neck, she found they were still tangled somewhat in her sleeves. All these things were minor distractions now, and nothing could have induced her to pull away from him. 

As their ardor built, in the air around them were woven very visible strands of leafy green magic, thickening, entwining, binding them together still further. They were matched to each other in strength and intensity, Sarah realised, before she once again was washed away by the feelings that crashed over her like a wave. Jareth had abandoned her mouth and had pressed his face into her shoulder, his breathing ragged on her scar. She could do little herself but hold him to her, hands tangled in his hair. They moved together, seeming to be one body, Sarah’s voice came in a rhythmic whine, building in intensity until she found herself groaning deeply, each breath tearing itself from her lungs. Jareth too shuddered, his breathing harsh, and moaned into the side of her neck. They clung to each other, trembling in the aftermath, sweat slick on both their bodies. Sarah was glad she was supported by the bench, because she certainly could not have stood up, even if she wanted to. Just as she was wondering fuzzily if Jareth was tired of standing, she felt him reach to the side and grab a stool, seating himself on it while endeavouring to keep their bodies pressed together as closely as possible. 

Once both their hearts had begun to slow, Sarah found herself shivering slightly from the sweat cooling on her body. This roused Jareth and he lifted his head from her shoulder, seeking her eyes in the lamplight. Suddenly self conscious, she found herself unable to look at him. She tried to hide her face from him, but he caught her chin with one hand, and gently moved her head around until she was looking straight at him. She had never seen this expression on his face before, tender, triumphant, and possessive. His eyes gleamed, and he smiled, a lopsided smile that did more to speed her heartbeat than slow it down. He placed his other hand over her heart, and his smile widened feeling the effect he had on her. She shivered again in earnest, feeling the cold night air now that his warmth had moved away from her. 

Without saying a word, Jareth leaned down and snagged the fabric of his shirt from the floor with his long fingers. Lifting it, he took her hand, and began to draw one of the sleeves slowly up her arm. She shivered once more, this time from the sensation of fabric caressing her skin. He draped it behind her and took her other hand, repeating the action with the other sleeve. Being dressed by him was almost as electrifying as being undressed by him had been. Gently he pulled it closed, and while his hands still held the ties, leaned forward and kissed her, tenderly this time, as though trying to soothe the lips he had ravaged in his haste. 

Still no words had been spoken between them, but Sarah could think of nothing to say that did not seem trite or commonplace in the face of what had just happened. Their physical joining had been the most natural thing in the world, and had seemed to complete a part of her that had been missing. The place in her heart where she had felt the connection to Jareth form during their battle no longer pained her. It was Jareth who finally spoke, and his voice was warm and tinged with amusement. 

“As much as I’d love to parade you back to my chambers this instant, dishevelled and de-robed… I believe I would like to keep you to myself for the rest of this evening.” She looked at him quizzically, as he rose, adjusted his breeches, and suddenly swept her off the countertop into his arms, her dress still hanging around her hips, and wearing his shirt. He walked them towards the doors that led outside to the garden, and Sarah was beginning to have an idea what he intended. She smiled to herself, and shivered a little as the cold night air hit them both. Jareth did not appear to be cold, or at least he hid it well, but nonetheless he walked quickly to her little shack against the garden wall. 

Nudging the door open with his foot, he summoned a crystal with a nod, and set it to glow inside the darkened lantern hanging from the roof. Sarah could see the room had been tidied since she was there last, but it was still sadly dusty and unused. This did not seem to bother Jareth, and he gently placed her in a seated position on the narrow, uncomfortable bed. He knelt down before her, to her embarrassment, and began to unlace her boots, removing them slowly and deliberately, running his palms up her calves. The action raised goosebumps all over her, and Jareth removed his own boots swiftly before climbing in also, pulling her close in the small bed, and drawing a woollen blanket up over them both. She laid her head on his shoulder and he put both arms around her, turning her on her side. 

“One night we must have here, at least. Sarah… under my nose all that time, working in my gardens as a lowly servant…” His grip tightened around her possessively. 

Jareth sounded so chagrined that Sarah could not help a laugh escaping her. “You are more offended at the idea that I managed to avoid you for so long, than the idea of my being a servant.”

“Perhaps the Labyrinth knew what it was about when it decided you were more than a match for me… Sarah.” The way he spoke her name sent a delicious sensation through her, as though his voice caressed every nerve ending in her body. One long-fingered hand slid inside the linen shirt that Sarah wore, and their minds, closely linked as they were, both turned down the same path. This time there was no hurry, only a desire to know each other more fully, and a knowledge unspoken that they had all the time in the world. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Several days passed, and Sarah, Jareth, Toby and Gwyneth were gathered in Jareth’s quarters, eating a casual breakfast. Sarah had changed much in the past few days, her eyes clearer, more confident, and her smiles came more freely now than they had in years. Every now and then she would pause what she was doing, and a shadow cross her face, but it never lasted long. Toby was eagerly telling Sarah what he was going to do today with a group of children - it involved fishing in a nearby creek and climbing trees - when the door to Jareth’s chambers suddenly opened, and Lady Caoilainn entered. She was dressed in an elegant dress of pale green, which set off her sunset beauty perfectly. Sarah noticed with a start that she now wore a patch over her destroyed eye, made of fine white leather. Strangely, it only seemed to enhance her face, which wore an amused half smile. Jareth had leapt to his feet when she entered and gallantly handed her into a chair, although she scarcely needed his assistance. Gwyneth nodded to her, and Toby jumped up and ran to Caoilainn, stopping just short of her and bowing like a courtier, the action having grown more smooth with practice. He grinned and threw himself on her, hugging her tightly. She laughed and returned his embrace.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Lady.” he reached one finger towards her face but did not touch the patch. “Now you look just like a pirate!” Immediately he was on his feet, imaginary sword in hand, hopping around the room and staving off invisible bandits. Sarah blushed at little at his familiarity with such a noble lady, and looked down to her plate, pushing the remains of her meal around with a fork. She had not yet had the opportunity to speak with Caoilainn, to thank her for saving Toby’s life, and for her part in the battle. Jareth had leaned forward and was speaking with the Lady in low tones, and although she knew better, she could not help feeling a slight pang at the sight of them together. They were so beautiful, seemingly so well matched. As if he sensed her train of thought, and indeed he likely could, Jareth turned towards Sarah momentarily, looking her in the eyes, reassuring her without words. She flushed and looked down again, but this time with a smile on her face. Jareth stood now, and walking over to Sarah’s chair, offered her his arm. She took it and stood slowly, unsure of just what he intended. He drew her over to the Lady’s chair. 

“Perhaps I should be a good host and introduce you properly, at long last. Lady Caoilainn, Sarah Williams, lately of the world Above.” Sarah attempted a curtsey, still a little awkward on her leg, and tried to look the Lady in the eyes. Blood rushed into her face as she did so, and she began to stammer awkwardly.

“My Lady, it is good to meet you… I mean, I know who you are already, Cruet… that is to say, I have heard of…” she broke off, biting her lip, and wanted to stones underneath her to open and swallow her whole. The Lady laughed, a silvery sound, and smiled at Sarah.

“Ah yes, the head cook I believe. I remember him well, a funny little fellow, responsible for many excellent feasts.” 

Sarah took a moment to calm herself down, and again raised her eyes to the Lady’s face. She saw no mockery there, only compassion and humour. Sarah took a breath and continued.

“My Lady,” she spoke as formally as she could, “I owe you a great debt. You protected the life of my brother with your own, and, and…” she faltered here, not knowing how to refer to the Lady’s loss of her eye. Caoilainn raised one hand to the patch on her face, her smile becoming a little wry. 

“Everything is bought for a price. Even you did not escape unscathed, I believe.” Sarah nodded at this, and suddenly she knelt in front of the Lady.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough, for everything you did for me, for Toby,” and she found a great lump rising in her throat, and could say no more. Hot tears gathered in her eyes, and she looked down to the ground. She tried to blink them back and gain control, but they began to fall down her face despite everything. Toby saw and ran over to her, hugging her around the neck. The Lady placed one hand on Sarah’s head. Although she had become more accustomed to Jareth’s touch, the feeling that came from his powerful Fae woman was quite different, and much stronger. Sarah could appreciate all she had been told of the Lady before now. Sniffing back the tears, she dared to look into the Lady’s face, and was surprised to see that her eye was suspiciously bright. 

“It is over now. What’s done is done.” Sarah felt a little start of surprise at this familiar sounding reference, and heard Jareth chuckle quietly from somewhere behind her. His hand slipped under her elbow once more, and she leaned into his strength to pull herself to standing. He let go of her arm once she was on her feet again, instead sliding it around her waist and pulling her slightly towards himself. Toby stood as well and wrapped an arm around Sarah’s leg. The Lady’s smile widened when she saw the boy and man ranged on either side of Sarah. 

“Clearly there were some unexpected outcomes to everything that happened. It is comforting to know they were not all traumatic.” Sarah felt Jareth’s arm tighten slightly, and looked up to see his face turning a somewhat darker shade of pink than was usually seen on his pale skin. Jareth released her arm and sat once again in his chair, deliberately picking up a piece of fruit and a small sharp knife, and slicing it into small wedges. Sarah sat as well, and Toby abandoned his post in favour of running up and down the stairs that led to Jareth’s bedroom. 

“I do believe,” said Jareth, after eating one or two pieces of the fruit, and handing Sarah a third - she was relieved to note that it was not even remotely peach-like, “that our new High King will be passing through my lands in the next few weeks, before the winter truly sets in. He wishes to reassure the people of his fitness to rule.” Jareth was watching Caoilainn carefully as he spoke, and he was the only one to notice a slight flush cross her face, lighter than his own blush but unmistakable, and her eye dart to one side to avoid his gaze. 

“Well, then,” she replied, her voice carefully neutral, “I believe it will be time for me to return to my own holdings, in order to receive him properly.” She too had known Conall for many years, since their youth, but she had not know of his true identity. It had initially been difficult for her to reconcile the truth in her own mind, but now she seemed to take in in stride. She raised an eyebrow at Jareth. 

“Will the lady Sarah be returning to her own place as well, in the world Above?” Rather than take offence at her words, Sarah exchanged a glance with Jareth. 

“In fact, yes,” he replied, surprising Caoilainn. “Toby must be returned to his own time, and Sarah feels her family would benefit from some time spent with both of them. However, she is to return as soon as she is able.” his gaze on Sarah turned intense, and she returned it in kind. Gwyneth, who had been watching the whole encounter silently, cleared her throat gently. Jareth was unapologetic. “The Labyrinth would not prosper as well as it could if she is not present. Also, nor will I.” The two of them had discussed it in length, throughout dinner and most of one night, and come to the same conclusion, although Jareth was reluctant to let her go back for any length of time, however Sarah had insisted.   
Gwyneth rose from the table, wiping her mouth delicately on a serviette. “If you will excuse me, Cousin, I believe there are tasks which demand my attention.” She bowed her head briefly to Jareth, curtseyed to the Lady, and actually smiled, ever so slightly, at Sarah. Sarah found herself smiling in return. 

It was early morning, and fog lay thick upon the paths of the Labyrinth. Two horses rode that morning, a tall, grey stallion with two riders, and a chunky pony with a small, blond haired boy atop him. As they reached a certain clearing, the mist seemed to swirl more thickly around them. The great Stone in the centre still leaned slightly to one side, but otherwise remained unchanged. Dismounting, Jareth helped Sarah down from the saddle. She could have ridden alone, but nothing could persuade her to spend the last hours in the Labyrinth apart from Jareth. Already she could feel the ache building in her heart at the thought of their separation. 

Toby was excited, as always, and jumped and ran through the mist, delighting in the strange ways it swirled around him. Jareth took the opportunity to quickly remove his gloves, and run his fingers through Sarah’s hair, tilting her face up to his. She kissed him eagerly, the action as always sending a stab of electricity through her insides, and causing her heart to falter for just a moment. His kiss became passionate, and it was with an exertion of will that they broke apart, both flushed and trembling slightly. Taking one of her hands, Jareth called to Toby. He came reluctantly, and took Jareth’s other hand. 

Here in the centre of the Labyrinth, magic flowed freely, and it was the work of a moment for Jareth and Sarah to gather enough together to wrap around the two humans tightly, and begin to open the portal that would take them back to their own world and time. Sarah wanted to arrive the morning after she had arrived back the first time, with Toby in hand, some hopefully believable excuse concocted to satisfy them. She hoped it would be enough that their family was together again. Then, after a time, she would explain to her parents that she had to go. But not for a while. She knew this time Jareth would be watching her, and the thought comforted her. 

As the magic rose and swirled around the three figures, Sarah turned her head for one last kiss, feeling a moment of desperation. Jareth pulled back and hissed “Soon, my heart. If you do not return I will come to collect what is mine.” he grinned, that old feral, pointed grin, and she grinned back. She knew it was true, and was reassured. With a sudden rush and emptying of space, Jareth was alone. As the leaves settled and the mist flowed slowly around him once more, he took the reins of the pony, and mounted his own stallion, beginning the slow ride back to his castle, to await the return of his Queen. 

THE BEGINNING….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO ITS DONE
> 
> It's so much better being able to post something after its actually already finished, rather than waiting, er.... a really long time in between chapters. Something I'll have to keep in mind for the next one! Ahem. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this crazy ride! I kind of left myself open for a continuation there but as yet I haven't been inspired enough to follow through. There could be more shenanigans ahead one day though!


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